


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Cliap^^ki.. Copyright Jfo.... 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




; 




(*■■: r,^ .'*t: 


. 4 






' ■ ;• . -i ‘*'‘iL' * t ' ■[I'-K'fH » .■*»? ' • 

■■ • ■■' • ^ ^■ -‘■ 


^ >r 





% - H 


•^ 1 -^ * 


' /A 




V e 





'' V 

3 ^rr,- 


• > 




‘ '*• 


* I 


I r 


V % 



I w 


?. 


IC 


4 « 


—4 


.;is 


•• f 


'.f * 


c' 






■» ^ V •’ • •* • ^ 

**j 

: '\t ^/,v ^ 

lA.* •« « 


^ ♦ i 

. / ‘‘7 


•« * 

•• 4. 




4^ 








I ^ • 


< « s 


» • 







> 





A V 






^:v i 



■ '^'j%y: ■ ■ "‘/ 

^ "■ ' '•. ciT' 


. L -. 




t, 


^ % 


• » 


r «%J 


tT. f* *■' 





i I 




1 1 


« • 


r * ^ 



■Av , 




*► 


Mi 


> : - 

f^X»H . ‘.•Nil 

■ • * 


* I' 


4 i 


. ’T" 




* • ^ ^ 


SKli 


< 4 


I t 




■ .; 


r 


. \ 


% 




U • > 


% il 


I ^ 


• • 


4 ^ A 


r 


^ 'fjp . V t ^ •'*. 

' . A « « 1 A 


ft 

•• • 


i 




' 4 



.: • ■■ V." ■; 

^ . ' »• ‘u • •• V i. 

w)4- ’■' "^ 


I ft 


■)' 


ik k 


. ^’. . 




M. 

s 



44 


1 1 

/A-ft 



% 


» 











i 


• 9 . 


* 


■ « 





# 

- • 1 • 

4 

J- • 

’ « 

j** 





•! 










• 4 


i‘ 1 I ^ > 

i'*. _^j,^. 


■BB^^t'v’/ V't'- • 

l^pn^-'i ^ '<(>1'''. . ’ /' ‘.V '''' 

wii .* • m ;,i , • vr* . • ' . ' 'yiiav: 

iKi ■ ■*..*.' ‘ ■ 

TY- ‘ *• - 


'■ •.-•.tV •■ 

^■W* -r^ ''*1 ' * ^B* 

i ■“Ufej-^ ‘ * • ?r 

V W.IV* » ' :• /•! 

- •!> »S'V 
SS,‘ 

&■• 



'.■ ::^i‘ »• " • -•»’** • t 


I- ■ r 


». 






'r. 


• j 

4, 


\ « 


■%,-■'* *' • 


1 

A** 



'■"-“JcV • ■* 





■•,:;V'!y. •• •• .■ 

•A 




‘ 'l#T . . *■ . . < , » ' 

« - • / • * /^ . ‘ 




t‘^r» 


■-» f.'i'- . , / V' * * 


■ 


bSl- . 

NS -*jr-i 





• ^ 

• ✓ 


;> 




I ^ 


• • k 

If 


4, 





♦ k ‘ 




« . 
,-.f 









s 


r-r 



- • — 


d <Wj 

l*f 



s ; ,. ' 

• :- 

\ ■ r^ ■ • 

9 

V.\ . • 

■f 

^ t 4 • . 

■■■ -,> a’.V;''- . 

• -.'‘.:.>.i^v; 


.O 


•, r.’’ 

♦ 

1 \ » 

. - .V 

.sV 5 *l 

'. V.' » 

. . , '' •'* •■■V • 

t 

.i 

r; .. •- » - 

«4 • A 

t e • r 

% 

4 

fc ’ « 

' % • ♦ 

. . • > .- / 

> 

0 





^ir. .T 

•■.«:, ' ■ •“ ,ir 




V 7 




■ 'r 

« I 


\ 


4 


>A A ► 


.<• 

« » 

*» 


A 

1 ' 


, .•• S»r>- 

■ V’ ' ‘li’ 

: , V • , o .*. V , 4 


%f . • V 



• « 


^ - ♦•f.M 


kr 



«o- 

^ • 

•% . 

r *• 


* 




• -\ 


I 


t '''- 


tf , 

'♦ 


./ 




9 


I 


V' .> 


IK . 






•\ 




‘ f 


\4 sf'*. 


,♦ ^ 4 

it 


‘ 


t : 




V-"-. • 


« • 


;- , U 


. I 


• 

V 


4 

• ,% 




» - U 

4 I 
’I 


0 
I ' 




» • 






# ^ • 





^ ♦ 


w 

.^1 


I’’ 


-V- 

*• 4 

' :c‘ 


•'-:v 

'■’W .. 4 ‘- 





•< 


• t 

• . 






' '.■r- 


% 


40 % 




^ 




■I. ; ,1 • ' 

- •« , , 



• ■/ 



♦ V 


9 9 


4 ^ A * 


I 


1 ^ 


v:^ 

« . 


•H 


Xi 


» • 


f 






i-j V' 


i • 


V/V 




s' 


•* ^ . 
k ^ 




I f 


V. 



• > 


f \ 


■<> 


• n->' V 

-. 1- -■'•"• - - ’■ •'■ 


« *■' rMi 

. :v •- ^ 


*> • ^ 

1 ^ I 


K V 


• *% 


f • 


■' • 


■’ vr'ty^., *' 


■ ■ * •> ,•! 




4^ 
• » 


u.' 



*> 


m* 0 




♦ • 

I * 





'4 

* ^ 


• ^ V '• I* • 

• . 


‘ f ' 

. r 


• * % 


► - j> 


■v •• ^ 




*/. 


M. 


tV 


r 4 

« .. r 


f 4 




9 9 


f/ 

I 


/. 


«' « 


4 

' A 




'i 


4 4 


• . I 


• A* 


' / 
•V 

« 1'4 

• » 


. J--: 


^ • 

% 

' 4 


^1 











Dartmoor 


By MAURICE H/'HERVEY 

Author of “Dead Man’s Court,’’ etc. 



FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright, 1895, by 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

I. AFTER THE BALL I 

II. LADY CONYERS HAS HER SAY II 

III. GOODWOOD 24 

IV. RAISING THE WIND 32 

V. BETRAYED 46 

VI. MRS. NESBITT AT HOME 59 

VII. “probation” 69 

VIII. AT NAPLES 82 

IX. DARRELL V. DYVER 93 

X. DARTMOOR I08 

XL THE ESCAPE 1 27 

XII. DENE HOLLOW I42 

XIII. THE WOLF 152 

XIV. HUSBAND AND WIFE 165 

XV. THE MEASURE OF INIQUITY IS FILLED. I77 

XVI. THE VENDETTA 188 

XVII. THE HON. BOB BESTIRS HIMSELF 2O3 

XVIII. JUSTICE AT LAST 214 


XIX. WHAT HAPPENED IN JERMYN STREET.. 229 


/ 



DARTMOOR. 


CHAPTER I. 

AFTER THE BALL. 

Lady Frappingham’s dance was one of 
the very last functions of note at the end of a 
brilliant London season, and opinions were un- 
usually unanimous that it had been a marked 
success. Most certainly Morley Griffin, aged 
twenty-two, and a lieutenant in Her Majesty’s 
Barsetshire Regiment of Militia, had no doubt 
whatever on this last point, for had not Ethel 
Conyers, whilst they sat out a square dance in 
a quiet nook in the conservatory, promised to 
be his wife ? 

Even now, although he had but just re- 
ceived a parting squeeze from her dainty little 
fingers, ere her mother’s carriage bore her 
away, he could scarcely realize his great happi- 
ness. He had fancied, hitherto, that Hugh 
Darrell was the favored suitor. And yet, 


2 


Bactmooc. 


although Darrell had danced with her that night 
as often as he had and had plainly been mak- 
ing the most of his opportunities, she had 
accepted him — Morley Griffin ! Well, he must 
pull himself together and face the responsibili- 
ties involved in this great good fortune ; he 
must steady himself, and 

“ Come along, Morley, to my den,” said 
a short, sandy-haired, good-humored-looking 
young fellow at his elbow. “ A quiet cigar 
and a final peg will freshen us up after all this 
racket.” 

The Hon. Robert Dyver (known amongst 
his intimates as “ Plunging Bob ”) was the son 
of the House; and his father. Viscount Frap- 
pingham, being a confirmed invalid, did pretty 
much as he pleased beneath the paternal roof. 

“ I was thinking of getting back to my 
rooms,” answered Griffin doubtfully. “ These 
late hours, you know ” 

The Hon. Bob interrupted this half-protest 
by a merry laugh, and looked at his companion 
in utter amazement. 

“ What next ? ” he exclaimed. “ Here is 
poor, delicate Morley Griffin, who stands six 
feet three in his socks, who measures forty-five 
inches round the chest, and whom I have seen 
fined times out of number for overstaying regu- 
lation closing-hour at the club, talking about 
late hours at 3 a. m. ! Come along, thou son 
of Anak, and don’t talk nonsense.” 


Bfter tbe miU 


3 


Some half-dozen other men were easily 
persuaded to follow suit, and the cosy smok- 
ing-room, which the Hon. Bob had described 
as his “ den,” was speedily redolent of cigars 
and whisky. 

“ Deuce of a bore, these hops,” remarked 
their host, settling himself comfortably in an 
armchair. “ Upset all the servants, and one 
can’t get a decent meal for days afterwards. 
Thank goodness, this is the last of them ; eh, 
Morley ? ” 

“Well, I don’t know,” was the reply hesitat- 
ingly given. “For my part, I enjoyed this 
dance immensely.” 

“ So anyone else could see,” put in a slight, 
somewhat blase-looking man of about thirty, 
known to the world as Hugh Darrell. “ Would 
it be indiscreet to offer you one’s congratula- 
tions, old fellow ? ” 

The words were, in themselves, harmless 
enough, and were uttered in a tone evidently 
meant to be one of mild banter. But there was 
a gleam in the speaker’s steely grey eyes, and a 
certain hard ring in his voice, which might 
have told their own tale to a more observant 
man than big, good-natured Morley Griffin. 

“I don’t know what you’re driving at,” he 
stammered, with an air of embarrassment, 
which provoked a general laugh, his infatuation 
over Miss Conyers having long been an open 
secret. 


4 


Dartmoor. 


“Never mind their chaff, Morley,” advised 
the Hon. Bob, coming to the rescue. “ We 
shall know all about it when the acceptances 
for the Matrimonial Stakes come out. By the 
way, talking of acceptances, does anyone know 
the strength of the report that Homebush will 
not start for the Cup ? ” 

“ Correct enough I’m afraid,” replied Cap- 
tain Heavyside, a sporting dragoon. “ Broke 
down at exercise yesterday completely. That 
should improve the chances of your horse 
Hyperion, Darrell, eh ? ” 

“ Yes,” assented Darrell. “ With Home- 
bush out of the way, Hyperion should have the 
Cup at his mercy. I always fancied my horse’s 
chance and told you fellows to back him when 
the weights came out.” 

A murmur of assent went round. 

“Well,” pursued Hyperion’s owner, “those 
of you who do so will stand on velvet. He will 
be at loo to 12 to-day, and I’ll take short odds 
he sees 3 to i before the flag falls.” 

“ If you have backed your opinion yourself to 
any large amount,” remarked the Hon. Bob 
drily, “you’ll have some nice hedging at that 
rate.” 

“ I shall not hedge a shilling,” rejoined 
Darrell resolutely. “ I shall back the horse up 
to the very start. The race is a moral cer- 
tainty.” 

Now, Hugh Darrell’s judgment was held in 


Bfter tbe :©aU. 


5 


great respect in sporting circles. He had had 
several stiff bouts with the Ring, and was 
known to have come off a considerable winner, 
^ upon the whole. Indeed, those were not want- 
ing among his enemies who opined that he 
owed the major part of the large fortune he 
was accredited with possessing (and, incident- 
ally, his good position sociably) to his cool head 
and sound judgment in racing matters. He 
certainly owed nothing to ancestry or family 
connections, and appeared to take a sort of 
quiet pleasure in posing as a successful self- 
made man. 

Having exhausted the subject of Hyperion’s 
merits, the Hon. Bob’s guests presently de- 
parted with the exception of Morley Griffin, 
who, at his host’s particular request, stayed 
to smoke out his cigar. 

“ You’ve become rather thick with that 
fellow Darrell lately, haven’t you, Morley ? ” he 
inquired meditatively. 

“ Not particularly so, I don’t think,” was 
the reply. “ Now you mention it, though, I do 
seem to run across him more frequently of late 
than I used to. Why do you ask ? ” 

“ He’s a fellow I can’t quite make out,” ex- 
plained his host, “ and I don’t love mystery 
men. Except that he owns a few good horses, 
spends money freely, and talks of buying a 
yacht, one knows so little about him. Who or 
what is he ? Seems a gentleman and moves in 


6 


Dartmoor* 


a good set, but somehow nobody seems to 
know anything of him.” 

“ Oh, he’s right enough,” rejoined Griffin. 
“ He makes no disguise of the fact that he’s a 
self-made man ; but, after all, what does that 
matter.^ My grandfather made his money in 
tallow, or some such stuff.” 

“ What your grandfather did doesn’t matter 
a little bit,’' retorted the Hon. Bob, senten- 
tiously. “ You and I were at Harrow and 
Oxford together. We both got plucked for 
every possible exam., and all the crammers 
going couldn’t scrape us through the army 
entrance competition. So you got a militia 
commission, in hopes of by-and-by creeping 
back-stairs fashion into the line, and I settled 
down to nothing in particular. That’s all 
right. We know all about each other, just as 
we know all about most of the men we associate 
with. But wha-t the deuce do we know about 
Mr. Hugh Darrell ? By the way, I judged 
from his remarks that you have cut him out 
with the Conyers girl.” 

“ Yes,” assented Griffin eagerly. “ I don’t 
know how he found it out, but, an hour or two 
ago, she promised to be my wife.” 

“The deuce she did!” exclaimed his friend, 
indulging in a soft, prolonged whistle. “ That’s 
rather a serious step, isn’t it, old fellow.^ Not 
coming off just yet, I hope.> Fancy marrying, 
and becoming dead to the world at twenty- 


Bfter tbe miU 


7 


two ! It’s downright wicked ! ” and the Hon. 
Bob paced the room in manifest perturbation 
of spirit. 

Somewhat taken aback by this sudden ebulli- 
tion of anti-matrimonial feeling, Morley Griffin 
puffed at his cigar for some moments in si- 
lence. 

“ Hang it all, Bob,” he presently protested, 
“ a fellow must marry some time.” 

“ Yes, I suppose so,” replied his friend, relaps- 
ing into a chair. “ So, too, a fellow must give 
up hunting some time, and, for the matter of 
that, must die some day or other. But I don’t 
see the force of anticipating the evil hour. 
However, if you have really proposed and have 
been accepted, there’s an end to the matter. 
One can’t decently pay forfeit in the Matrimo- 
nial Stakes. When does the trouble begin ? 
Of course. I’ll be there to see you weigh in.” 

“ Bob, you are incorrigible ! ” exclaimed 
Griffin. “ I believe you regard every event in 
life from the saddling-paddock point of view.” 

“ Well,” was the prompt retort, “ and what 
is life but a succession of races from the 
Nursery Handicap to the All-aged Stakes.^ 
Had Shakespeare lived nowadays, he would 
certainly have written that ‘ All the world’s a 
racecourse, and men and women merely — 
“ gees ! ” ’ But you have not yet told me when 
the event is coming off.” 

“ We did not get so far as that,” explained 


s 


2)artmoon 


(Griffin. “ I merely proposed to Ethel, and she 
accepted me — in a general sort of way.” 

“ Oh ! ” was his friend’s comment. “ Then 
it’s not a fixture, after all ! Come, that’s bet- 
ter. It’s wonderful what a lot of these matches 
never come off. I say, don’t glare at me like 
that, old chap. What is the use of expecting 
me to look pleased at the prospect of losing a 
good chum in the matrimonial noose, when I’m 
not } ” 

“ I told you, Bob, long ago, that my future 
happiness depends upon making Ethel Conyers 
my wife,” said Griffin, with an aggrieved air, 
“ and that should suffice to enlist your sympa- 
thies.” 

“ Oh, I sympathize with you right enough,” 
rejoined the Hon. Bob, “ especially as you 
seem so bent upon sacrificing yourself ! But I 
reserve the right to hope the match may fall 
through, for all that. What about Lady Con- 
yers She will have a say in the matter.” 

“ Yes,” assented Griffin, “ I daresay there 
will be a difficulty in that quarter. I know 
Lady Conyers has an idea that Ethel should 
look far higher than a not over- weal thy lieu- 
tenant of Militia. But, after all, the girl is free 
to choose for herself, and between us we shall 
have enough to live upon comfortably. By my 
uncle’s Will I shall come into ^16,000 upon 
my twenty-third birthday — six months hence. 
Ethel will have 0,000 of her own. vSay it 


mtcx tbe miu 


9 


costs me ;{^3,ooo to square-up my variou’s debts. 
Very well. I shall throw up the Service, and 
put the balance of my money into some good 
paying business in the City ” 

“Am I awake interrupted the Hon. Bob. 
“ Morley Griffin throwing over the Service to 
go into business in the City ! The man is mad ; 
stark mad ! Why, only yesterday we were 
comparing our books over Goodwood ” 

“ Oh, I shall give up all that sort of thing,” 
e.xplained Griffin. “ That is, of course, I must 
see this meeting through, but after that — no 
more betting for me. I wonder, by the way, 
whether Darrell's horse is the certainty he 
fancies for the Cup ? ” 

The Hon. Bob Dyver laughed. “ That’s you 
all over, Morley,” he remarked. “ You talk 
in the calmest way of giving up racing, and, in 
the same breath, speculate upon Hyperion’s 
chances for the cup ! ” 

“ I said I should give up racing after Good- 
wood,” retorted his friend, a little nettled. 
“ I can’t scratch wagers already made, and so 
1 must see this meeting through. I’ve made 
rather a dangerous-looking book so far, as you 
know, and if Hyperion is really as good as 
Darrell says, it would pull me through nicely 
to back him.” 

“ If the horse is anything like the owner, I 
shouldn’t care to back him very far,” was the 


lO 


Dartmoor. 


rejoinder, as Griffin at length rose to take his 
leave. 

“ How prejudiced you are against Darrell ! ” 
he remonstrated. “ Has he ever done you an 
injury ? ” 

“ No,” replied his host, “ I never gave him 
cause or opportunity. He is one of those men 
whom I desire neither as friend nor foe, and, if 
you take my advice, you’ll give him a wider 
berth in future. Another soda before you 
start ? 'No? Well, ta-ta, old fellow. I dare- 
say we shall learn something about this won- 
derful Hyperion this afternoon.” 

Whereupon the two friends shook hands and 
separated. 


Con^eta baa 1ber Sa^. 


CHAPTER II. 

LADY CONYERS HAS HER SAY. 

Morley Griffin’s forebodings with re- 
spect to Lady Conyers’ reception of the news 
of her daughter’s sudden engagement were 
fully realized. A cool, calculating, up-to-date 
woman of the world, her ladyship refused even 
to hear of the young militia officer as a pro- 
spective son-in-law. 

“You must be mad, my dear, to dream of 
such an alliance,” she told her daughter. 
“ This Mr. Griffin is certainly good-looking, 
and a magnificent specimen of manhood, but 
I am credibly informed he has next to no 
money ” 

“ He will have ^16,000 in six months’ time,” 
conceded Ethel, a pretty, somewhat empty- 
headed blonde of nineteen ; “ he told me so 
himself.” 

“ He belongs to a fast set, and is doubtless 
riddled with debts,” pursued her ladyship. 
“ The interest upon what may remain to him 
after paying these debts would probably not 
keep him in gloves and cigars.” 

“ You forget, mamma, that I have ^^10,000,” 
urged the young girl, half defiantly. 


12 


Bartmoor. 


“ Which, safely invested, means an income 
of £3^^ ^ year,” rejoined Lady Conyers. 
“ Sufficient no doubt for pin-money, but utterly 
Inadequate for housekeeping. My dear, the 
matter is past all argument. You may as well 
at once dismiss all idea of T:his preposterous 
match from your mind. It is a poor return for 
all my trouble in bringing you up to view the 
world rationally that, with half-a-dozen excel- 
lent pat'tis to choose from, you should select 
this young man, who is quite ineligible.” 

“He loves me,” murmured Ethel, at a loss 
for stronger argument in defence of her lover. 

“ Loves you ! ” repeated her ladyship, with 
fine scorn. “ And in proof of his affection, he 
seeks to fetter you down to the horrors of an 
improvident marriage ! I tell you, child, it is 
sheer insanity to dream of marrying nowadays 
upon less than 1,500 a year, and, between 
you, you would not have half that income. 
Were he a rising young man in some profitable 
profession, there might be a ray of hope ; but 
a commission in the militia— really, my dear, 
the thing is too absurd ! You say he intends 
calling this afternoon, /shall receive him.” 

Lady Conyers was as good as her word, and 
poor Morley Griffin spent an extremely inaiivais 
quart d'heure. In the coldest language of 
common-sense she pointed out to him the 
hopelessness of his suit, from the standpoint of 
simple arithmetic. 


XaO\) Confers bas tier Sa^. 


13 


“ And having made it plain to you, Mr. 
Griffin,” she concluded, in her iciest manner, 
“ that you have no prospects whatever of being 
in a position to keep my daughter in the style 
to which she has been accustomed, you will, of 
course, understand that her hasty engagement 
to you (made subject to my approval) is at an 
end.” 

“ But I maintain. Lady Conyers,” persisted 
Griffin, “ that I shall be able, in six months’ 
time, to provide her with all the comforts and 
most of the luxuries to which, as you say, she 
has been accustomed.” 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Griffin,” rejoined her lady- 
ship. “ Your own statement as to your means 
justifies no such hope. If, six months’ hence, 
you can show me proofs of an income of ^1,400 
or ^1,500 a year, and if Ethel is still free, I 
shall be prepared to reconsider my present 
decision. But, meanwhile, there must be no 
engagement between you and her.” 

“I received her promise from her own lips,” 
protested the lover, rendered desperate by this 
ultimatum, “ and jfrom her alone am I willing 
to accept my dismissal.” 

“ Very well, Mr. Griffin,” assented Lady 
Conyers, with a steady stare, “ you shall have it 
from her — by post. I have a horror of scenes, 
and my daughter’s nerves are not sufficiently 
strong to justify me in subjecting her to the 
trial of an interview with you in your present 


M 


2)artmoor. 


unreasonable frame of mind. Understand, 
please, that I should regard any attempt on 
your part to force yourself upon her as an act 
of gross discourtesy towards me. Good after- 
noon, Mr. Griffin ! ” 

And before the luckless wooer could frame 
any adequate protest against this dismissal, a 
tall flunkey had bowed him out into the street. 

“ A mercenary old cat ! ” he muttered to 
himself, as he walked in dejected mood towards 
his club. “One would think, to hear her talk, 
that I’m a downright pauper. After all is said 
and done, I shall have 16,000 in February 
. . . less, of course, my debts. . . . Let me 
see . . . Aaronson, 1,200 . . Hyman, ;^8oo 

. . . tradespeople, about £ 700 . Allowing a 
margin and for extra expenses until February, I 
shall have a balance of about 13,000 to the 
good. Hold hard, though ! What about my 
Goodwood book } Homebush has broken 
down. That’s a dead loss of ^250. . . . Cam- 
byses scratched for the Stakes. . . . Another 
facer! . . . Upon the whole, my book doesn’t 
look healthy. What if I went a bit of a plunge 
on Darrell’s horse } Darrell is a good enough 
fellow, despite Bob’s absurd prejudice against 
him, and he seems very sweet upon Hyperion’s 
chance. Yes, a bit of a plunge would pull me 
through — if it came off — and leave me some- 
thing to the good. Hanged if I don’t go and 
talk things over with Darrell. Perhaps he’s at 


15 


Confers bae Ibec 

tlie club. ... As for Ethel writing to throw 
me over, that’s all rubbish. I know her too 
well to believe that for one moment.” 

Mr. Darrell was not at the club, but Morley 
Griffin eventually found him in his rooms in 
Jermyn Street. 

“Glad to see you, Griffin,” was his greeting. 
“ I was just wondering what I should do with 
myself for an hour or so. Going down to- 
night or to-morrow ? ” 

“To-night, I think,” replied Griffin. “Bob 
Dyver has wired me that he can put me up at 
Chichester, and will wait supper for last train. ” 

“ Capital fellow, Dyver, ” remarked Darrell. 
“ Will you split a soda ? ” 

“ Thanks, ” assented his visitor. “ It is thirsty 
weather. And now, Darrell, I want to ask your 
advice. ” 

“ Quite at your service, my dear fellow, ” 
answered Darrell. “ What is it ? ” 

Morley Griffin made no reply until the servant 
had supplied the desired refreshment and had 
withdrawn. 

“ Well, it’s just this, ” he said ; “ you fellows 

chaffed me, after the dance, about Miss Con- 
yers.” 

“ Did we? ” queried his host, lighting a cigar 
and puffing at it with unnecessary vigor. “ Not 
offended, I hope I fear you were not very dis- 
creet. You were overheard, I fancy.” 

“ You seem to have heard of it, anyhow,” said 


i6 


S)artmoor, 


Griffin, “ And you were quite correct. Ethel 
Conyers accepted me.” 

“ Confound this cigar ! ” ejaculated Darrell, 
viciously, throwing the weed, which his suddenly 
clenched teeth had mutilated, into the tire-place. 
“ They always put a percentage of bad ones into 
a good box. Yes ? You were saying that Miss 
Conyers has accepted you. Let me congratu- 
late you. She is quite the nicest girl I know.” 

“ Isn’t she ?” echoed Griffin, eagerly, grasp- 
ing Darrell’s hand. “ I can scarcely as yet 
realize my good fortune. But (and here is where 
I want your advice, Darrell) her mother has seen 
fit to raise objections to our engagement.” 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed Darrell, lighting a fresh 
cigar. “ So Lady Conyers objects, eh ? ” 

“Yes,” assented Griffin; “she tries to make 
out that my means do not justify me in marry- 
ing her daughter.” 

“ But, my dear fellow,” remarked Darrell, 
with one of his cynical smiles, “ that is easily set- 
tled, Refer her to your solicitors and bankers. 
Nowadays everything is a question of £ s. d.” 

“ That’s just where the trouble comes in ! ” 
cried Griffin, jumping from his chair and pac- 
ing the room excitedly. “ I have £ 6^0 a year, 
being the interest on 16,000 due to me next 
February. After paying my debts, I shall have 
about 3,000 clear. Now, surely, a fellow 
with that amount of capital can secure a part- 
nership in some sound business or other ” 


XaDs Conacre bae 1ber Sag. 


17 


“A City-bred man could do so easily,” inter- 
rupted Darrell, “but a fellow reared in your 
school — never. You would simply be robbed. 

1 3,000 to a man like you means, safely in- 
vested, about ;/^4oo’a year,” 

“ Ethel has /io,ooo,” put in Grififin. 

“ Worth another ^^300 a year,” rejoined his 
adviser, drily. “ That would give you £700 a 
year between you, of which your proposed 
wife would contribute nearly half. Imagine 
for yourself what such an establishment would 
mean. Lady Conyers is quite right : the thing 
is an absurdity. Why, I myself, who am by no 
means an extravagant man, spend, at least, 
^3,000 a year. And then, I earn money ; I 
grow richer as I grow older.” 

“I wish I knew how you do it,” remarked 
Griffin, enviously. 

“ Do you } ” echoed his host, with his hard, 
cynical laugh. “ Well, I’ll tell you. I keep 
my eyes and ears open, and a close guard upon 
my tongue. The world is made up of a good 
many fools, who commit blunders, and a few 
wise men, who profit by their mistakes. That 
is the whole secret, my dear Griffin. For in- 
stance, when I gave Chudleigh £^00 for Hype- 
rion, he was a fool to sell and I was a wise 
man to buy — as you will all know when the horse 
romps in for the Goodwood Cup.” 

“ You seem very confident about winning 
that race, Darrell.” 


i8 


2)artmoor* 


“ Certainly I am. I know to a pound what 
the horse can do. I have studied the form of 
the other horses in the race, and I am satisfied 
that, with Homebush scratched, Hyperion 
must win. Nor can you fellows accuse me of 
keeping this good thing to myself. As you 
know, I have made no secret of my horse’s 
chance.” 

“That is so,” assented Griffin, “and some 
of us have backed your opinion pretty stiffly. 

I wish I felt as confident about the horse as 
you do. My book at present is rather in a 
mess, and I need a good big haul to pull me 
round.” 

“ Well, you must please yourself about back- 
ing my horse,” rejoined Darrell. “ I can only 
assure you that such a chance of picking up 
money does not often occur. Except as your 
friend and well-wisher, it can matter nothing to 
me whether you take my advice or not.” 

“You’re a downright good fellow, Darrell ! ” 
exclaimed Griffin, grasping his adviser’s hand. 
“ I’ll risk a plunge ! ” 

“ Risk ? ” echoed Darrell, half contemptu- 
ously. “ There’s no risk about the matter. I 
tell you that, so far as Hyperion is concerned, 
the result of the race is a foregone conclusion. 
Going ? Well, we shall meet to-morrow on 
the course. Sans adieu!’ 

Lady Conyers was clearly determined not to 
keep her daughter’s suitor in suspense, for that 


XaDs Confers bas Ibcc Sa^. 


19 


very evening a letter reached Griffin from Ethel 
herself. For some moments the young man 
stared at the unopened missive, as though 
half dreading to break the seal. Then he 
opened it and read the following : — 

“1 7 1 Curzon Street, August ist. 

'‘Dear Mr. Griffin — Your conversation to-day 
with mamma will have prepared you for this let- 
ter, which, as you can well imagine, it costs me 
no small effort to write. Mamma has told me 
all about your interview with her, and I need 
not, therefore, tell you how determined she is 
that there shall be no engagement between us. 
What can I say or do ? It seemed so pleasant 
and so easy to form plans for the future in the 
conservatory at Lady Frappingham’s, but now 
it looks as though we were merely building a 
house of cards. I understand very little about 
what people call the realities of life ; but I know 
that it costs a great deal of money to keep up 
an establishment in proper style. Mamma has 
tried to explain this to me in figures, which con- 
fuse me and make my head ache. Yet she has 
made it perfectly clear that you and I are too 
poor to marry. Of course I did not know this 
when I promised to be your wife, and I am sure 
you did not realize it either when you asked me. 

“ Perhaps, when you read these lines, you will 
tear up my poor little letter and call me false 
and mercenary. I am neither ; but I feel I am 


20 


2)artmoor. 


not clever enough, nor patient enough, to be a 
poor man’s wife. You would hate me within 
six months if you saw me in a badly-fitting 
gown ; I know you would. So do not be angry 
with me, but let us be friends as we were before. ' 
One never knows what the future may have in 
store. It may be that, some day, that which 
now seems impossible may become possible — 
who knows? I am nineteen. I shall not be of 
age for two years, and I must, meanwhile, obey 
mamma. We are not going down to Good- 
wood, Mamma has changed her plans, aud we 
are leaving almost immediately for Switzerland, 
whence we shall proceed, later on, to Italy. 

“ Lastly, do not misjudge mamma. She is 
really doing what she considers -to be her duty. 
Personally she likes you. She says you are the 
finest-looking man she ever saw, and that it is 
a thousand pities your income does not corre- 
spond with your stature ! She bids me say 
that we shall be at home this evening, and that, 
if you are now prepared to take a reasonable 
view of the matter, you may call and see me 
at nine o’clock. We shall be gone before you 
return from Goodwood, and I should like to 
say good-bye. 

“ Sincerely your friend, 

“Ethel Maud Conyers.” 

Morley Griffin read this letter through twice, 
slowly and carefully. Then, so far from tear- 


Confers bas Iber Sa^» 


21 


ing it up, he placed it tenderly, reverently, in 
his pocket-book. 

“ Poor child ! he murmured. “ The 
mother’s influence is too strong for her to fight 
against. I dare swear Lady Conyers dictated 
the greater portion and left Ethel to finish it 
herself. And the sum total of the inspired 
remarks is this: If, within the next two years, 
I can succeed in increasing my fortune, and if 
Ethel remains true to me, then — she may yet 
be mine ; but, meanwhile, there is to be no en- 
gagement. Well, from the mother’s point of 
view, I daresay this is not so unreasonable as 1 
at first deemed it. After all, what need is 
there of a formal engagement when I know 
quite well my darling will wait for me Yes, 
I’ll be ‘reasonable,’ as her ladyship calls it, and 
most certainly I’ll call, I wonder if I shall see 
her alone Let me see. Twenty to nine. 
Just time to get there comfortably. I can pick 
up my portmanteau on the way back, and 
catch the 10.50 train to Chichester.” 

Our hero’s hopes of a tete-a-tite interview 
were doomed to disappointment, for Lady Con- 
yers had been sagacious enough to invite some 
friends to dinner, and the drawing-room was 
fairly well filled when he arrived. Lady Con- 
yers, after favoring him with a keen glance of 
mingled inquiry and warning, received him 
courteously, with some approach to cordiality 


even. 


2)artmoot. 


2i 


“ I am pleased to see that you at length take 
a sensible view of the situation, Mr. Griffin,” 
she found opportunity to remark, in a confi- 
dential “aside.” “ It is so much pleasanter for 
all that a proper understanding should be 
arrived at, especially as we are not likely to 
meet again for many months.” 

And without waiting a reply, she passed on 
amongst her other guests. 

Do what he would, Griffin found it impossi- 
ble to obtain even a moment’s priv^ate speech 
with Ethel. The girl herself looked somewhat 
pale and distraite and her lover could see that 
it cost her an effort to treat him as an ordinary 
acquaintance. But as she gave him no assist- 
ance towards securing a tete-a-tete (in obedi- 
ence, doubtless, to her mother’s instructions), 
he had to content himself with exchanging such 
remarks as were possible in general conversa- 
tion. Not until he had bidden his hostess fare- 
well did his chance come. He saw Ethel stand- 
ing alone near the grand piano, and advanced to 
take his leave. ; 

“ Good-bye, Ethel,” he whispered, hurriedly. 
“ For you are still Ethel to me, and my darling. 
I understand your letter ; and if energy and 
determination can do it, I will tide over this 
monetary gap. Only promise that you will not 
forget me. Give me time, dearest. Wait a 
little while for me.” , 


Confers bag 1bcr Sa^. 


23 


The girl’s pale face flushed momentarily, and 
Griffin felt the small hand tremble in his own. 

“ Yes, Morley,” she murmured, “ I will wait 
— as long as I can.” 

“ Good-bye, then, darling, and God bless 
you ! ” he rejoined in hot haste, for Lady Con- 
yers was bearing down upon them. One final 
hand-clasp, and, a minute later, he was racing 
as fast as a speedy hansom could travel, to 
catch the 10.50 train. “She loves me!” he 
said to himself, “ and she will wait for me. 
The rest depends upon Fortune and myself 
and, so saying, this inconsistent young man 
proceeded to discount fortune by lighting an 
eighteen-penny cigar. 


24 


2)avtmoor. 


( 


CHAPTER III. 
GOODWOOD. 

When, late that night, Morley Grifihn strode 
into the Hon. Bob Dyver’s quarters at Chi- 
chester, he somewhat staggered that not very 
prudent young nobleman by the extent to which 
Hyperion figured in his betting-book. 

“ One thousand to on^hundred and fifty, five 
time over ! ” he remarked, raising his eyebrows. 
“ That's going it pretty stiff, isn’t it, Morley ? 
The horse appears to be all right, and certainly 
has a good chance, on paper ; but on^ should 
know a great deal to plunge like that, if one 
don’t happen to be a millionaire.” 

“ I do know — or, at least, Darrell does,” pro- 
tested Griffin. “You know what a good judge 
he is in these matters, and he vows Hyperion 
cannot possibly lose.” 

“ Well, since he appears to take such a great 
interest in your affairs, I suppose it’s all right,” 
was the reply. “ Personally, I don’t much like 
the man, as I told you ; but he can scarcely 
have any interest to^ serve by advising fellows 
in his own set to back a losing horse.” 

“Of course not,” assented Griffin, eagerly. 


(3oo5vvooD. 


25 

“ Besides, he has backed Hyperion heavily him- 
self.” 

Much more was said upon the same topic. 
It is wonderful how talkative men become 
when a horse is under discussion ; and, in the 
end, the Hon. Bob. so far renounced his prej- 
udice against the owner as to announce his 
intention of backing Hyperion himself for a win 
of ^3,000. 

Goodwood Races, as all the world knows, 
last four days, the race for the cup being de- 
cided upon the third day. The results of the 
various events upon the Tuesday and Wednes- 
day do not particularly concern this narrative, 
though it may be mentioned that Morley Griffin 
had so strong a run of luck that, although he 
made but moderate wagers, he was nearly^ 500 
to the good upon the morning of Thursday, the 
Cup Day. Elated by this success, he resolved 
to increase his venture upon Hyperion ; and 
that animal's price having hardened to three to 
one, he accepted a final to ^500. He 

thus stood, upon the whole, to win ;{j6,5oo or 
to lose ;^75o; and, had he chosen, he might 
obviously have “hedged” at "a considerable 
profit. Indeed, to this course the Hon. Bob 
Dyver had strongly urged him. 

“ Hedge ! ” exclaimed Darrell, scornfully, 
over-hearing this advice. “ It would simply be 
throwing money away. I have just taken a 
final ^3,000 to ^1,000 myself.” 


26 


Dartmoor* 


And, fortified by this opinion, Morley Griffin 
stood to his guns. 

Strong and iron-nerved though he \vas, his 
heart beat fast as the seven competitors for the 
Cup paraded before the grand stand. If only 
that big, grand-looking chestnut, called Hy- 
perion, and carrying the red and gold colors, 
should justify Darrell’s prediction ! ';r6, 500. 
Enough to pay off all his debts, clear his inher- 
itance, and leave him a comfortable sum in 
hand for an autumn trip withal. The Conyers 
were going South — to Italy. Let but Hyperion 
win, and he, Morley Griffin, could compass the 
same trip, and so remain near his darling. 
Win ? Of course, Hyperion would win ! Did 
he not look a winner all over as he sped past, 
with long, sweeping strides in the preliminary 
canter ? Had he not hardened down to the po- 
sition of favorite.^ And was not his owner, 
Hugh Darrell, still confidently asserting, with 
his usual cold, cynical laugh, that the race was 
as good as over ? 

Two false starts, both due to the fractious 
conduct of a vicious-looking bay, called Grass- 
hopper ; and, at the second, Hyperion raced with 
Grasshopper for nearly half-a-mile before his 
jockey could stop him. 

“ That won’t improve your horse’s chance, 
Darrell,” remarked the Hon. Bob Dyver. 

“Oh, it will do him no harm,” replied the 
owner, coolly. “ He likes a pipe-opener.” 


(5oot)\voo6. 


“ The bookmakers seem to think differ- 
ently,’’ retorted the Hon. Bob, grimly, as 
shouts of “ Five to one, Hyperion ! ” proceeded 
from the crowded ring. 

“They’re off!” proclaimed thousands of 
voices in a mighty roar, and the clanging bell 
confirmed the fact that the race for the Cup 
was indeed in progress. Hyperion again 
rushed to the front, but his jockey presently 
steadied him ; and, when a mile had been cov- 
ered, the big chestnut was fourth, two lengths 
behind three .horses that were leading in a 
bunch, and closely followed by the rest of the 
field. When another half-mile had been cov- 
ered, the favorite drew up to the leaders, like 
an arrow shot from the bow, and loud shouts 
proclaimed the fact that he was leading. 

“ As I told you,” remarked Darrell, coolly, 
shutting up his glasses ; “ it is all over ! ” 

And Morley Griffin could scarce restrain the 
cheer that rose in his throat. 

Was it all over ? What meant that raucous 
yell from the thunderous-voiced bookmakers ? 
Hyperion was leading, indeed, but his jockey 
was moving upon him, and, a second later, the 
tell-tale whip was at work. On, gallant chest- 
nut, on ! On, though limb fail thee, and bright 
eye grow dim, and nauseous taste be on thy bit ! 
On, for yet a few score yards, and hoist thy ras- 
cal owners with their own petard ! Alas ! it 
might not be ! Nor whip, nor spur, nor equine 


28 


'2)artmoor. 


courage could avail against nauseating drug, 
and, with drooping head, Hyperion, the favor- 
ite, staggered in a bad fifth. 

All eyes in his immediate neighborhood were 
instinctively turned upon Darrell. Not that any 
foul play was suspected. The jockey had evi- 
dently ridden the horse out to the last possible 
effort ; but Hyperion had as clearly been un- 
able to stay the full two miles. And those 
who had backed the favorite, upon Darrell’s 
advice, now looked at him to see how he would 
bear his defeat. 

Except for a slight paleness, his face showed 
nothing of what was passing in his mind, and 
he glanced around him with his habitual cynical 
smile. 

“ I think, after that, I shall have a brandy 
and soda,” he remarked, quietly. “ That false 
start pumped my horse.” 

And so saying, he moved away as cool and 
impassive as ever. 

Morley Griffin had been trained in a school 
which condemns all outward display of emo- 
tion as the worst of bad form ; yet it needed a 
strong effort on his part to maintain the 
appearance of a tranquil demeanor. To see 
all his apparently well-grounded hopes of pay- 
ing off his creditors, and of a tour in Italy, thus 
suddenly shattered by the collapse of Hyperion, 
was almost more than he could silently endure. 

“ Hard lines? old chap,” whispered the Hon, 


(3ooDwoo&. 


29 


Bob Dyver, squeezing his arm sympathetically, 
“ but it can’t be helped. That confounded 
Darrell must have made an awful mistake about 
his horse’s staying power ; the brute was done 
half a mile from home. I expect that, as he 
says, that false start took it out of him. Never 
saw such a complete case of collapse in my life. 
Come and have a peg to steady your nerves a 
bit. ” 

Morley Griffin said but little. His disap- 
pointment was too keen to permit of his finding 
solace in words — or, at all events, in such 
words as might be spoken upon the grand stand 
at Goodwood, He drank, however, somewhat 
more heavily than was his wont, and an- 
nounced his intention of returning to London 
that same evening. 

“ Nonsense, Morley ! ” exclaimed the Hon. 
Bob. “ Stay over to-morrow, and have another 
slap at the books. A couple of decent wins 
would put you straight.” 

“No, Bob,” answered Griffin, shaking his 
head sadly. “If I get any deeper into the 
mire, I shall never get out again. As it is, it 
will take me all my time to square up on Mon- 
day. I shall get back to-night, and see old 
Aaronson in the morning.” 

“ Lots of time to see him on Saturday,” 
urged ‘ The Plunger,’ “ and to pick yourself up 
here to-morrow. The last day of a meeting 
is generally a lucky one for backers. With 


2)artinoor. 


30 

a streak of luck, you won’t need to see Aaron- 
son at all.” 

“ Don’t tempt me, Bob,” said Griffin. “ I 
can’t venture to risk the loss of any more 
money just now.” 

“ All right, old fellow, you know best,” 
assented his friend. “ Well, since you are bent 
upon going, you may tell the old shark that, if 
my luck doesn’t change to-morrow, he may ex- 
pect to see me on Saturday.” 

And so Morley Griffin was a passenger by 
the night mail train, by which, somewhat to his 
surprise, Hugh Darrell was traveling also. 

“ I am too much disgusted with Hyperion’s 
performance to see the meeting through,” he 
explained. “ By the way, I hope you’re not 
very hard hit, Griffin ? ” 

There was a ring of real anxiety about this 
inquiry for which Morley felt grateful. 

“ Harder than I can afford just at present,” 
he replied. “ I have lost ^750 ; but Aaronson 
will put that right.” 

“Only ;!^75 o!” echoed Darrell, in surprise. 
“ I thought you were in it far deeper than that. 
Why, £ 2,000 won’t cover my book. You must 
have done pretty well the first two days.” 

“ Yes,” assented Griffin, “ I did very well 
until I went ‘ nap ’ on your horse.” 

Darrell looked at his companion as though 
suspecting some latetit meaning in the words. 


(BooDwooD. 


31 


but quickly satisfied himself that there was 
none. 

“Come, Griffin,” he said, “you must not talk 
as though 'I were to blame for my horse’s 
collapse. No one could possibly foresee that 
unlucky false start, but for which Hyperion 
must have won. I advised you to the best of 
my knowledge and belief.” 

“ I’m quite sure of that, Darrell,” was the 
reply. “You can have no reason to wish me 
harm.” 

Had Griffin seen the bitter smile that curled 
his companion’s lips, and the savage gleam in 
the steely-grey eyes, he might have spoken less 
confidently on this point. 

“ Of course not ! ” rejoined Darrell, as they 
settled down, each into his own corner of the 
carriage. “ Why should I ” 


5)artmoor, 


CHAPTER IV. 

RAISING THE WIND. 

Mr. Jacob Aaronson was sitting at the 
receipt of custom in his snug West-end office ; 
and his vulture-like countenance wore a look of 
contented expectancy, for he anticipated brisk 
business that sultry morning in early August. 
The London season was at its very last gasp, 
and, as a natural result, many of its votaries 
were at their last gasp also. Moreover, was it 
not Friday in Goodwood week, had not the 
favorites had a wofully bad time of it, and would 
not aristocratic backers have heavy books to 
square up upon the following Monday ? There- 
fore Mr. Jacob Aaronson was sitting, as we 
have said, contentedly expectant. 

Presently his clerk, another vulture of more 
youthful appearance, entered with a card in his 
hand. The look of expectancy upon the Jew’s 
face changed to one of eager satisfaction as he 
read the name. 

“ Mr. Morley Griffin ! ” he exclaimed. “ Show 
him in, Isaac. Show the gentleman in.” . 

But. the gentleman in question apparently 
knew the way, for he followed close upon the 
clerk’s heels. 


IRaising tbe TOnb. 


33 


“ Morning,” he remarked, with a curt nod, in 
reply to Mr, Aaronson’s salutation, and taking 
the chair which the latter indicated. “ You can 
pretty well guess what I’ve come about. Good- 
wood has cleaned me out, and you must find 
me ^750 by Monday morning,” 

Mr. Aaronson rubbed his hands over one 
another softly, and shook his head with a dep- 
recatory leer that did duty for a smile. 

“ Money is very tight just now, Mr, Griffin,” 
he observed, “ terribly tight. I was in hopes 
you had called .in order to take up those two 
bills ” 

“ Which you renewed last month at sixty per 
cent,, eh ? ” put in his visitor with a laugh. 
“ Well, if that horse of Darrell's had won the 
Cup, I should have been tempted to do some- 
thing of the sort, but, as it is. I’m just stone 
broke.” 

“ That’s bad,” said the Jew, in a tone of re- 
gretful sympathy, “ very bad. What a pity you 
young gentlemen will insist upon backing 
horses ! I have already had more applications 
for money than I can possibly meet. Fact, 
sir, I assure you.” 

“ Sorry to hear it, for the borrowers’ sakes,” 
was the reply. “ But you must manage 50 
for me somehow or other. As you see, I 
didn’t stay down at Goodwood for the last day, 
for fear of making matters worse.” 

“ Ah ! ” sighed Mr. Aaronson. “ That was 


34 


5)artmoor. 


prudent. It is not every backer who knows 
when he has lost enough. But about this ^750, 
Mr. Griffin. I can’t do it, and that’s the fact.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Morley Griffin, blankly. 
“ You can’t do it.^ But, confound it all, man, 
you must do it! I’m £ 7 S^ short on my book, 
and the money must be paid on Monday.” 

“ Sorry to hear it, sir,” said the Jew, shaking 
his head slowly, “but it can’t be done.” 

“ You did the other bills fast enough,” pro- 
tested Griffin, “ and you renewed them, know- 
ing perfectly well that, in six months’ time, I 
shall come into £16,000. You hold my paper 
now for £1,200.” 

“ Quite so, sir,” answered Mr. Aaronson, 
gravely. “ I hold, as you say, your renewed 
bills for ^^1,200, but they are very dangerous 
security. My solicitor has carefully examined 
your uncle’s Will, under which you inherit 
/ 1 6,000 upon attaining your twenty-third birth- 
day ” 

“ Well ” interrupted the borrower. “Isn’t 
the Will all right, and the money all right } ” 

“Yes,” assented the Jew, hesitatingly, “ but 
the clauses restraining you from anticipating 
the legacy are more stringent than I thought. 
The Law Courts have a knack nowadays of 
enforcing the wishes of a testator, and I am 
advised that were my claims disputed, I might 
come off second-best.” 

“ Confound it all, man ! ” ejaculated Griffin, 


IRaising tbe 


35 


hotly. “ Do you suppose I would take refuge 
behind a clause in a Will, to back out of paying 
you ? ” 

“ I do not doubt your good intentions for 
one moment,” was the rejoinder; “ nor do I 
refer to the clause whereby you forfeit every- 
thing should you ” and the Jew paused in 

some confusion. 

“ Should I disgrace the name I bear,” put in 
the young man, flushing hotly. “ Very good of 
you, I must say, to overlook that contingency.” 

“ But this apart,” continued Mr. Aaronson, 
with an awkward bow, “ accidents might hap- 
pen, and, to put the matter simply, ;^i, 2 oo is 
quite as much as I care to risk, Mr. Grififin, 
upon your own name alone.” 

“ Do you mean to say that you refuse to lend 
me this ;{j75o?” demanded Griffin, starting 
angrily to his feet. 

“ ‘ Refuse ’ is a harsh term, sir,” answered 
the money-lender, soothingly. ' “ Say rather 
that I cannot see my way to lending it without 
a second name upon the bill. If one of your 
friends — Mr. Hugh Darrell, for instance ” 

“ Confound your impudence ! ” interrupted 
Griffin, fiercely. “ Do you suppose I’m going 
to ask Mr. Darrell to back my bill ? I’d see 
you hanged first. If you won’t take my paper. 
I’ll try someone else. You’re not the only 
money-lender in London.” 

And, jamming his hat viciously upon his 


36 


Dartmoor. 


head, the youthful plunger strode to the 
door. 

“One moment, Mr. Griffin,” said the Jew 
calmly. “ As you say, I am not the only 
money-lender in London ; but, for your own 
sake, let me advise you not to hawk your name 
about. Perhaps you are not aware that there 
is a system of communication between loan 
offices, and that if I am referred to I am bound 
to state what I know of your affairs ? Try, if 
you insist upon so doing. But you may take 
my word for it that you will merely be put off 
for the usual ‘ inquiries,’ and that these inquiries 
will block you.” 

“ Bosh ! ” was the only comment vouchsafed 
to this'prediction, as Morley Griffin strode off 
upon his money-hunting mission. 

With a grim chuckle Mr. Aaronson went to 
his telephone, which he kept busy for fully 
twenty minutes ; and, before his late visitor 
had reached a second office, a warning word 
was swiftly circulating throughout the money- 
lending fraternity. 

That evening Morley Griffin was forced to 
confess to himself that he was beaten. Every- 
where he had tried, the reply had been the same : 
“Yes, certainly; nothing could be easier. If 
he would call again in three days’ time, so as 
to allow the necessary interval for inquiries, no 
doubt the loan would be granted.” Three 
days ! And he required the money, absolutely 


1Rai6ing tbe Wiinb* 


37 


and at the latest, by noon on Monday, Aaron- 
son was right, after all. What the deuce was 
to be done.^ Tormented by this problem, he 
was making his way moodily enough towards 
his rooms in Clarges Street when he encoun- 
tered Hugh Darrell. 

“ Halloa, Griffin ! ” exclaimed the latter. 
“What’s up You look as though matters 
had taken a wrong turn.” 

“So they have,” assented Griffin, “and a 
devilish bad one, too. I have been wasting the 
day amongst the 6o per cent, fraternity. For 
some reason or other Aaronson has grown shy 
about discounting my paper, and threatens to 
block me with the rest of the tribe. I believe 
he can do it, too ; and I can see no way out of 
the mess, for I must have £ 7 So by Monday.” 

Hugh Darrell smiled — the habitual cynical 
smile. “ Nonsense, my dear fellow,” he said, 
quietly. “ There’s a way out of every difficulty, 
if one can only find it. Did Aaronson suggest 
no such way ” 

“ Why, yes,” assented Griffin, flushing 
slightly, “ he did. He said that if I got a good 
name ” 

“ Mine, for instance ? ” interrupted Darrell, 
with a laugh that was half sneer. 

“ Yes, he mentioned yours. But, of course, I 
told him that was out of the question.” 

“ Did you ? ” was Darrell’s comment. 
“ Then you should have asked me first. I 


2)actmoor* 


3^ 

would lend you the money myself, but that the 
season, followed by this confounded Goodwood 
week, has run me somewhat short, and my 
yachting cruise will come expensive. But I’ll 
accept your bill right enough.” 

“ You will, Darrell ! ” exclaimed Griffin, with 
a sigh of relief. “ By Jove ! that’s deuced 
good-natured of you, especially considering 
that ” 

“ Considering that we were rivals for the 
hand of the same fair one, eh ? ” added Darrell. 
“Not a bit of it. I am always glad to do a 
friend a good turn ; and, so far as Miss Conyers 
is concerned, I have been for playing the game 
fairly and squarely, and let the best man win. 
I know the world is kind enough to say some 
hard things of me ; but then, you see, the devil 
is not always so black as he is painted. ” 

“ ’Pon my word, you know,” protested 
Griffin, “ I don’t know how to thank you, Dar- 
rell. I was in a deuce of a tight corner, be- 
cause it never occurred to me that Aaronson 
would raise difficulties. You’ve taken such a 
load off my mind that I feel myself a new man.” 

“ Psha ! my dear fellow, it’s a mere trifle,” 
rejoined Darrell, displaying a very perfect .set 
of white teeth. “ I’ll accept the bill now, if 
you’ve got a form ready. No? Well, as I 
start to-morrow for Paris by the Club train 
(leaving my commissioner to settle for me on 
Monday,) have the paper ready at, say, noon. 


IRaising tbe ‘IKIllnb. 


39 


I’ll drop in on you and sign. But I’ll ask you 
not to inflict an interview with Aaronson upon 
me ; and, by the way, oblige me by not speak- 
ing of the matter to any of our set. I have 
refused, over and over again, to back bills for 
the other fellows, and they might cut up rough 
if they knew I had broken my rule for you.” 

“ All right,” said Griffln, “ I shall be ready 
for you at twelve o’clock ; and, once more, ten 
thousand thanks ! ” 

“ De rzen,” replied Darrell, airily. “ I ex- 
pect to run across the Conyers people at 
Naples, later on. All sorts of kind messages, I 
suppose, on your part to the fair Ethel } ” 

Morley Griffin winced. It was not pleasant 
for him to know that his wealthy rival would, 
perhaps, shortly be playing host on board his 
yacht to Ethel Conyers, whilst he would be 
economizing down in Somersetshire. How- 
ever, he remembered certain hopeful words 
spoken when he had last seen her, and he 
could scarcely, at that moment, feel irate against 
the man who was befriending him. And so, 
after some further banter on either side, Hugh 
Darrell left him. 

“Fool!” muttered the latter, as he strolled 
towards his club. “ Trebly-distilled fool not to 
divine that I, of all men, would be the last to 
do him a good turn ! Ah ! Morley Griffin ; in 
addition to the other wrongs your existence has 
inflicted upon me, it was an evil day for you 


40 


S)artmoot, 


when you took it into your pot- hunting head to 
come between me and Ethel Conyers ! ” 

In explanation of the epithet “pot-hunt- 
ing,” it should be stated that Morley Grifhn was 
admittedly one of the best all-round athletes of 
his day. His ’Varsity record had been one long 
series of triumphs ; and he had developed such 
phenomenal muscular power hat many good 
judges would have backed him, with a little 
special training, against the redoubtable Samp- 
son, then in the zenith of his fame. 

Punctually at the hour named, Hugh Darrell 
called next day upon his youthful rival. The 
latter was, naturally enough, awaiting him. 

“ Now, then,” said Darrell briskly, “ let’s get 
through with this business smartly, for I’m in 
the deuce of a hurry. I have a heap of things 
to do, and very little time to do them in. Got 
the bill ? All right. I see you have made it 
out for ^862 los. The odd hundred, I suppose, 
is for interest ; and pretty stiff, too. However, 
that’s your business. Pass me over a pen. I’ll 
accept right off, and hurry away.” 

So great was his evident haste that he did 
not even trouble to remove his gloves, but 
rapidly wVote : “ Accepted, payable at London 

and County Bank, Pall Mall branch — Hugh 
Darrell,” across the paper, shook hands 
with Griffin, and made for the door. Upon the 
threshold he paused for a moment, and added, 
as an afterthought : “ By the way, this is the 


tRaising tbe Minb. 


41 


6th. Make the date of the bill the 9th, will you ? 
That, with the grace-days, will suit my rent 
receipts ; for, of course, you understand that if 
it’s not convenient to you to meet the bill at 
maturity. I’ll pay it. It would be absurd to 
renew at 60 per cent., and you can settle up 
with me afterwards. Good-bye, old fellow ! ” 
And he was gone. 

Griffin post-dated the bill as directed, feeling 
pretty sure that Aaronson would raise no 
objection, and then hastened off to the money- 
lender’s office. In a few words he explained 
how Darrell had come to the rescue, and his 
reason for post-dating the three days. 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed the Jew, with a knowing 
leer, “ I knew your friend, Mr. Darrell, would 
see you through. Never mine the post-dating. 
Isaac ! Make out a cheque in favor of Mr. 
Morley Griffin for £ 7 S^- Oi* stay! lean let 
you have the money in bank-notes if you prefer 
it, Mr. Griffin.” 

“ As you please,” was the reply. Where- 
upon Mr. Aaronson paid him the amount in 
Bank of England notes. As the young giant 
sallied forth with these in his pocket, he 
felt almost inclined to believe that there were 
some good points even about this arch type of 
the West-end bill-discounter. 

Monday was a red-letter settling day for the 
bookmakers. Darrell’s horse, Hyperion, had 
carried an enormous amount of club money, 


42 


2)artmoor. 


and many an aristocratic plunger, besides the 
Hon. Bob Dyver, had been compelled to resort 
to the good offices of the tribe to meet his 
liabilities. Losers are usually disposed to be 
harsh in their judgments, and some very hard . 
things were said about Hyperion’s defeat. 

“ Devilish rum thing,” remarked the Hon. 
Bob, as he and Griffin sauntered back from 
Tattersall’s with depleted pocket-books. “ That 
Darrell’s commissioner seemed to be receiving 
all the time instead of paying away. It strikes 
me that, instead of losing, Darrell won heavily 
over the meeting.” 

“ He told me that £ 2,000 would not clear 
him,” answered Griffin. 

“ Then he told you that which is evidently 
not a fact,” retorted his friend. “ Anyhow, he 
showed considerable discretion in clearing out 
of town so expeditiously, for some deuced un- 
pleasant rumors are current about Hyperion’s 
final preparation for the race.” 

“ Yes,” assented Griffio, indignantly, “ and 
without an atom of reason to justify them. 
The horse was pumped out by that false start, 
and couldn't quite stay the distance. Darrell 
explained the whole affair, in a few words, after 
the race, and you yourself predicted that the 
long, useless gallop would mar the horse’s 
chance. You remember ? I’ll tell you what it 
is. Bob. Some of you fellows .entirely mis- 
judge Hugh Darrell. In spite of his cynical 


IRaislng tbe TOnD. 


43 


style, there’s not a better-natured fellow going 
when you know him.” 

“ Can’t say I yearn to know him any better 
than I do,” rejoined the Hon. Bob. “ He's not 
my sort at all. But there ! I know you are 
infatuated with him, so we’ll drop the subject. 
What say you to a bit of a fly round to-night 
amongst the shows We’re both leaving town 
to-morrow for the stubble, so it’s our last 
chance." 

“ All right, ” assented Griffin. “ Dalrymple is 
dining with me at eight. Join us, and we can 
go where you please afterwards.” 

“ Agreed,” said his friend. “ I particularly 
want you to have a try at that German strong 
man’s weights — Sampson, he calls himself. 
Most of us fancy you could make him sit up.” 

“ You fellows make a tall mistake about me,” 
protested Griffin modestly. 

“ Tall enough, certainly, if it is a mistake,” 
laughed the little patrician, glancing at his com- 
j)anion’s towering stature. 

“ Perhaps with exercise and a couple of 
months’ steady training,” explained Griffin, “ I 
could do most of the weight-lifting business ; 
but to tackle a professional at the fag-end of a 
London season would be sheer folly. I doubt 
if I could put up a hundred-weight, fairly, at 
the present moment, in one hand.” 

“Poor weakling!” chuckled the Hon. Bob. 
“ Well, you must go into training down in the 


44 


Dartmoor. 


country, that’s all, and show these German 
chaps that they can’t have it all their own way 
over here. It’s a national disgrace to see a pack 
of foreigners defying all England in muscu- 
larity. Go for them, Morley ! ” 

“ I might do worse,” said Griffin, reciprocat- 
ing his companion’s laugh, “ and that seems to 
be about all I’m fit for. Change my name, 
shave my moustache, and toss hundred-weights 
about the variety stage, eh ? Well, they say 
there’s a lot of money in it, and, Heaven knows, 
I want to make some, if I can. Pity it’s not a 
gentleman’s game ! ” 

“ Gentleman’s game be hanged ! ” retorted 
the Hon. Bob, scornfully. “ It’s a vast deal 
more gentlemanly than quill-driving in a Gov- 
ernment office or cadging guineas on a city 
directorate. I only wish I had your biceps. 
I’d go into training to-morrow.” 

“Would you though, really.^” asked Griffin, 
eagerly. “ I never know when you’re chaffing, 
and when you’re in earnest. Do you think 
seriously that I could do it without falling 
socially into the position of an acrobat ? ” 

The Hon. Bob Dyver was recognized as an 
authority upon social questions, and indulged 
in a self-conscious little cough before he de- 
livered himself of his opinion. 

“ Were I you, my dear fellow,” he remarked, 
presently, “ and assuming that I made up my 
mind to tackle the stage, I should view the 


IRaisincj tbe THainb. 


45 


matter in a practical spirit, and, so lon^ as I 
remained upon the stage, I should endeavor to 
live the life of an ordinary mummer.” 

“Yes?” inquired Griffin, to whom this 
statement conveyed no very clear ideas. 

“Of course,” continued his adviser, “such 
a life would be, in many respects, different to 
that which you and I are now leading, but it 
seems to me that it ought to be a pleasant one 
enough by way of a change, and, then, when 
you’ve made your pile, there’s nothing to pre- 
vent your falling back into the old grooves, you 
know. They tell me some of these stars make 
their ^10,000 a year.” 

Visions of wealth and of Ethel floated 
through Griffin’s brain. 

“ Well,” he said, “ the matter is worth think- 
ing over. There can be no harm in training a 
bit, anyhow.” 

“That’s the idea!” exclaimed the Hon. Bob, 
who had a sort of craze to see the obnoxious 
Teutons taken down by an Englishman. 
“ You’re not compelled to go in for the show 
business regularly if you find you don’t like it ; 
but do, for Heaven’s sake, take the conceit out 
of these foreigners ! ” 

And thus it came to pass that the young 
Hercules went in for pretty hard training dur- 
ing the next three months, and developed 
muscles calculated to make Sampson himself 
tremble for his supremacy. 


46 


2)artmoor, 


CHAPTER V. 

BETRAYED. 

The time sped by swiftly, as time has a 
habit of doing when one has a bill to meet ; 
and, at the end of three months, Morley Griffin 
awoke to the fact that his economizing had not 
resulted in enabling him to pay in £^62 los. to 
Hugh Darrell s account. Under ordinary cir- 
cumstances, he would have applied to Aaron- 
son for a renewal, since his own legacy would 
be available in less than three months more ; 
but, bearing in mind Darrell’s parting injunc- 
tions not to renew, he allowed the bill to take 
its course. That course took a somewhat 
queer turn. He received the following letter 
from Aaronson ; — 

“ Charles Street, November 12th, 188-. 

“ Dear Sir, — The bill for £^62 los., drawn 
by you and purporting to be accepted by Mr. 
Hugh Darrell, has just been returned by that 
gentleman’s bankers, indorsed : ‘Signature un- 
like. Refer to acceptor*’ I hasten to bring 
this extraordinary circumstance to your notice, 
and to request your immediate attention thereto. 

“ Your obedient servant, 

“Jacob Aaronson. 

“ Morley Griffin, Esq.” 


JSetra^eD. 47 

Griffin’s first impulse upon reading this notice 
was to laugh. 

“ This comes of writing with one’s gloves 
on,” was his mental comment. “ I’ll just run 
up to town and explain. I daresay Darrell’s 
signature was somewhat irregular.” 

Mr. Aaronson listened with a very grave face 
whilst Griffin told him how, as he supposed, 
the alleged dissimilarity in handwriting had 
been caused. 

“If you saw Mr. Darrell sign,” he remarked, 
with a slight but obvious emphasis on the con- 
junction, “ that, of course, must be the explana- 
tion.” 

“ y/' I saw him sign ! ” repeated Griffin, hotly. 
“ What the deuce do you mean.^ I’ve told you 
already that he accepted in my presence. Do 
you doubt my word ? ” 

“ I doubt nothing, sir,” was the dry reply. 
“ The bank does all the doubting. However, 
Mr. Darrell is now in Paris, and I have sent my 
clerk to him with the bill. So it will be all 
right.” 

Griffin left the office, still rather indignant 
at the Jew’s tone, but consoling himself by the 
reflection that, Darrell being in Paris, a few 
hours would set matters right. 

Next morning, whilst he was at breakfast, a 
Mr. Garrett was announced, and quietly en- 
tered the room. 

“ Mr. Morley Griffin ? ” he asked. 


48 


5>artmoor. 


“Yes,” was the reply. “I am Morley 
Griffin.” 

“ Very sorry, sir, but I have my duty to per- 
form,” said the visitor, producing an ominous- 
looking document. “ This is a warrant for 
your arrest, upon a charge of forgery. ” 

“ What ! ” cried Griffin, starting to his feet. 
“ A warrant for my arrest, upon a charge of 
forgery ! You’re mad ! ” 

“ Like enough, there’s a mistake somewhere, 
sir,” said the detective with a ring of some- 
thing very like pity in his voice, “ but it’s not 
in the warrant. That’s all in proper form, as 
you can see for yourself, and it’s my duty to 
arrest you.” Then, seeng the angry gleam in 
the young man’s eyes, he added : “ It’s useless 
to attempt resistance, sir ; I have help outside. 
Best, for your own sake, avoid a scene and 
come quietly.” 

That there was some horrible, stupid mistake 
was, of course, quite clear to Morley Griffin. 
Moreover, he had himself a gentleman’s aver- 
sion to what the detective called a “ scene,” 
and he at once decided to accompany the offi- 
cer. He had, however, no stomach left for 
breakfast, for which he substituted a brandy- 
and-soda, invited his captor to help himself 
(which he did), and announced himself as 
ready to start. Hailing a hansom, they drove 
to Bow Street. 

Then, for the first time, Morley Griffin real- 


JSetra^eO. 


49 


ized that he had been betrayed. The evidence 
taken was short, but more than enough to jus- 
tify the remand for which the police applied, 
and which the magistrate unhesitatingly granted. 
Hugh Darrell had flatly disowned his alleged 
acceptance of the bill, the handwriting of which 
he had declared to be an indifferent imitation 
of his. He was actually ill in bed, but was 
expected to be well enough to travel to London 
in a few days. Hence the remand. 

The prisoner, in reply to the usual question 
and caution, passionately denied the monstrous 
charge, and was proceeding to give an exact 
account of what had really occurred, when the 
magistrate interrupted him by remarking that, 
as he had decided to grant the remand, the 
accused had better obtain legal assistance at 
that stage of the case. 

Morley Griffln’s eyes flashed ominously and 
his strong hands gripped the rail of the dock in 
which he stood. A wild impulse came upon 
him to wrench the iron rail from its fastenings 
and, with it as a weapon, to vindicate his right 
to freedom. But he controlled himself suffi- 
ciently to enquire if he was to be detained as a 
prisoner until Hugh Darrell should arrive to 
add perjury to his treachery. 

“ Of course you will be detained in custody,” 
was the reply. “ That is what a remand means. 
And the nature of the case does not admit of 
bail. Next case ! ” 


50 


Dartmoor. 


The gaoler beckoned Griffin to follow him, 
but he refused to move. 

“ Hear me, sir ! ” he said to the magistrate. 
“ I am accused of a crime of which, as Heaven 
is my judge, I am as innocent as you are ! 
Why should I be-treated like a criminal ? ” 

“ If you are innocent, your innocence will, in 
due course, be made clear,” the magistrate 
answered. “ You are remanded for three 
days. ” 

“Come along, sir,” whispered the gaoler 
not unkindly. “ You can’t gain anything by 
riling his worship, and it is no use attempting 
resistance.” 

For a few moments Griffin felt strongly in- 
clined to test this last assertion, but common- 
sense again prevailed, and turning upon his 
heel, he followed his conductor to a cell wherein 
he was promptly locked up. 

Not to dwell needlessly upon this stage of 
the narrative, suffice it to say that, three days 
later, Hugh Darrell appeared in the witness- 
box, and, with seeming reluctance, repeated his 
Paris depositions upon oath. The court, upon 
this occasion, was crowded with fashionable 
on-lookers, including the Hon. Bob Dyver, 
whom nothing could persuade to believe in his 
friend’s guilt, and who was eventually turned 
out for his angry denunciation of the entire pro- 
ceedings. Many persons remarked that Dar- 
rell never once looked at the prisoner, whose 


JSctra^eO. 


SI 

eyes, blazing with passionate scorn, never left 
his accuser’s face. In the end, Griffin was 
formally committed for trial ; nor, despite his 
solicitor’s appeals, would the magistrate con- 
sent to accept bail. 

At the trial, the evidence for the Crown was 
over-whelming. Hugh Darrell, still affecting 
to be an unwilling witness, and playing the 
part with consummate art, made admissions, 
rather than statements, fatal to the prisoner. 
The latter, he acknowledged, had once sounded 
him as to his willingness to accept a bill ; but, 
although they were on terms of considerable 
intimacy, he had declined upon principle. 
Griffin had told him that Aaronson would at 
once advance money upon his (Darrell’s) signa- 
ture. Upon the date borne by the bill now 
produced, he was actually in Turin, upon his 
way to Naples. Cross-examined, he affirmed 
that he had never in all his life signed a blank 
bill or cheque. 

Jacob Aaronson spoke as to his relations 
with the prisoner, who, being already consider- 
ably in his debt, had endeavored to borrow a 
further sum of ^750, upon his own personal 
security, in order to pay certain losses incurred 
over the Goodwood Cup. 

This proposal he had declined, but he had 
suggested Mr. Hugh Darrell’s name as being 
quite good enough, and he had subsequently 
discounted what he had believed to be that 


52 


Dartmoor. 


gentleman’s acceptance. Cross-examined, he 
swore that he would himself be at the loss of 
the £7S^ advanced. 

Some experts in handwriting were called ; 
but their evidence was conflicting, as it usually 
is. And, indeed, Hugh Darrell’s direct repu- 
diation of the document made their opinions 
appear as of little or no importance. 

Against all this, Griffin’s counsel could do 
little more than point out that the entire case 
for the prosecution rested upon the bare as- 
sertion of Hugh Darrell, and that it was ex- 
tremely improbable that a gentleman, occupy- 
ing the social position held by the prisoner, 
should be guilty of so base a crime as forgery. 
He called many witnesses of good standing, 
and notably the Hon. Bob Dyver, to’ avow their 
utter disbelief in the possibility of Morley 
Griffin’s guilt ; but, as the judge drily remarked, 
these opinions were not rebutting evidence. 

Morley’s counsel, doubtless, did his best, but 
he somehow left an impression that he knew 
he was fighting a hopeless case, and some per- 
sons thought that his manner did not indicate 
entire belief on his part in his client’s inno- 
cence. Moreover his experience of courts had 
taught him the disfavor with which judges 
view any defence based upon a suggested 
conspiracy against a prisoner; and even had 
Morley been free himself to give evidence, he 
Qould have offered nothing stronger than his 


:©ctra^ct)* 


53 


assertion of his own innocence and of Darrell’s 
treachery. Long before the judge had con- 
cluded his summing up, it was clear that a ver- 
dict of “ Guilty ” was a foregone conclusion ; 
and this the jury returned without even leaving 
the box, the foreman remarking that they were 
not unanimous in recommending the prisoner 
to mercy. 

The judge, one of the severer sort, appar- 
ently did not feel disposed to lean to the side 
of clemency. He wound up a pithy discourse 
upon the evils of extravagance, and consequent 
inability to resist temptation, by passing a sen- 
tence of seven years’ penal servitude. 

All eyes were riveted upon Morley Griffin as 
the dread words were pronounced. Standing 
erect in the dock, his eyes riveted upon the half- 
seated, half-crouching figure of Hugh Darrell, 
his broad chest heaving and his mouth firmly 
set, he scarcely seemed to realize at first that 
the sentence had gone forth which branded 
him as a felon. Then, with a sudden move- 
ment and a short, sharp cry, he hurled himself 
from the dock upon the barristers’ table, at 
which sat his foe. Darrell heard the cry, and 
looking up, read his doom in those vengeful 
eyes. Then, quick as thought and with the 
instinct of self-preservation, he slid beneath the 
table. Two policemen, in charge of the dock 
and momentarily thrown off their guard, at 
once followed their prisoner and a terrific 


54 


2>artmoor. 


struggle ensued. They two were no match for 
the young giant, who forced his way to the 
spot where Darrell had been sitting and dived 
under the table after him. His custodians, 
however, managed to seize hold of his legs, 
and, several more constables rushing to their 
assistance, between them all they succeeded in 
dragging him back, his right hand securely 
gripping his enemy by the throat ! 

The scene which ensued baffles description. 
Shouts and screams resounded on all sides, 
whilst the spectators eagerly craned forward 
their necks to witness the desperate struggle. 
The judge, speechless with indignant amaze- 
ment, could only stare helplessly at the surging 
mass of policemen, barristers, the recently-sen- 
tenced prisoner, and the witness whom he was 
surely strangling. Do what they would, the 
constables were unable to loosen that deadly 
grip until they had choked their prisoner him- 
self into a state of insensibility. Then Hugh 
Darrell was borne away, his tongue protruding, 
his eyes starting from their sockets, and as 
nearly dead as ever yet was man who after- 
wards recovered. The man whom he had be- 
trayed was carried away to his cell in but little 
better plight, for policemen are not very gentle 
in their dealings with refractory prisoners. 

For many hours he lay unconscious, and his 
first words, upon returning to life, were, “ Did 
I kill him!” Ah, me! Treachery and injus- 


:©etrai2eD, 


55 


tice had commenced their dire work. In place 
of gay, good-natured, good-tempered Morley 
Griffin, a sullen, vindictive, dangerous felon had 
been added to the world. 

Think of him, as he lies in his cell awaiting 
removal to Pentonville Prison, where, during 
the first year of his servitude, he will be kept in 
solitary confinement to brood over the wreck- 
ing of his joyous young life. A convict ! Con- 
victed of a crime of which he is entirely inno- 
cent, and which he yet must expiate by seven 
years of slavery and unspeakable degradation. 
Torn from everything that life held for him of 
precious, from liberty, from love ! And by the 
black-hearted treachery of Hugh Darrell, whose 
plot, he now clearly sees, had been to separate 
him for ever from Ethel Conyers. 

As the full measure of all that he had lost 
and of the hellish future in store for him swept 
like a fiery blast through his brain, Morley 
Griffin started to his feet, his face full of a sud- 
den resolve. As yet he wore his own clothes. 
At any moment he might be taken off to Pen- 
tonville, where he would have to exchange 
them for the convict’s garb. Surely his best 
chance of escaping would be between the 
police-cell and the prison. If he could once 
gain the street, it would need more than a few 
constables, on scattered beats, to recapture him. 
He was strong, aye, strong with a strength 
which he hardly knew himself ; and he was 


56 


2)artmoov. 


fleet of foot. A glance at the small window 
which ventilated the cell, showed him that 
escape in that direction was impossible. He 
must wait until his gaolers opened his cell-door. 
If he could but, regain his freedom for even a 
few hours, he would track down Hugh Dar- 
rell and complete the task of killing him. For 
this was now the one idea which possessed him 
— to slay his betrayer. 

Presently the cell-door opened and a gaoler 
entered. 

“ The Black Maria is in the yard,” he 
remarked, at the same time producing a pair of 
handcuffs. “ After the way you played up in 
court to-day, the orders are to fit the bracelets 
on in here. Hold out your hands.” 

In an instant it flashed across Griffin’s mind 
that his attempt, if made at all, must be made 
at once ; since, once handcuffed, he would be 
helpless. Without the slightest hesitation, 
therefore, he seized the gaoler in his muscular 
grasp, hurled him into an opposite corner of 
the cell, slipped out into the corridor, and shot 
the bolt which secured the door upon the out- 
side. As he did so a second turnkey rushed 
up and attempted to pinion his arms. Very 
deliberately Griffin gripped him with his right 
hand, re-opened the door with his left, and 
thrust him in, to keep company with his com- 
rade. He then again bolted the door, and ran 
up some stone steps which, he supposed, led 


JBctrai^eD. 57 

to the outer office, and consequently to the 
street. 

A moment later he found himself in a guard- 
room confronted by four constables, who, heart- 
ing the outcries of the imprisoned janitors, at 
once divined the position of affairs and rushed 
at him together. Had they used their batons, 
the fugitive’s onward career would probably 
have then and there ended ; but, being four to 
one, they merely endeavored to seize him. 
Vain effort ! The foremost received a sledge- 
hammer blow between the eyes which brought 
him down with a crash, and then the young- 
giant hurled himself upon the others. As it 
happened, they were not especially powerful 
men, and were utterly incapable of withstand- 
ing the furious onslaught. A second and then 
a third fell stunned and bleeding, whilst the 
other ran through an open door, with the 
evident intention of summoning a reinforce- 
ment. Griffin followed him, and found himself 
in a yard where a prison-van was awaiting its 
complement of prisoners. 

Beyond the van were two massive closed 
gates which evidently gave upon the street. 
He knew that, in a few moments, the court- 
yard would be filled with police, and he cast 
his eyes desparingly around for some means of 
egress. A small wicket in the main gate 
seemed to offer a last hope. Against this he 
dashed himself furiously, but it defied all his 


2)artmoor* 


S8 

efforts. Then he heard the shrill sound of 
whistles, followed by the rapid beat of feet upon 
the paved yard, and he knew that his foes, in 
overpowering numbers, were upon him. Con- 
centrating all his strength into the blows, he 
smote the topmost panel of the wicket. There 
was a crash of splintered wood, and he saw the 
street and freedom before his eyes ! Through 
the aperture thus formed he now made a final, 
desperate effort to force his way. The jagged 
timber tore his clothes and lacerated his flesh, 
but, regardless of the pain, he pressed onwards. 
Then he felt the rough grasp of many strong 
hands upon his limbs, and knew that he was 
caught like a rat in a trap. He was powerless 
to move backwards or forward's, and in this 
position his captors held him until they had 
firmly bound his legs with rope. He was then 
dragged back into the yard, where, after a 
short, sharp struggle, he was handcuffed. A 
few minutes later, he was thrust, still bound 
hand and foot, into the prison van. 

“ They’ll settle with you for this up at Pen- 
tonville!” remarked a constable, grimly. 
“ They’ve got a way of their own of dealing 
with warm members like you, and you’re about 
the hottest I ever came across.” 

In due course the van arrived at Pentonville 
Gaol : and Morley Griffin commenced his con- 
vict career with the reputation of being one of 
the most dangerous and desperate criminals 
ever received within its walls. 


/II5>r0. IResbitt at 1bome. 


59 


CHAPTER VI. 

MRS. NESBITT AT HOME. 

We need not be understood to mean “at 
home ” in the fashionable sense, for Mrs. Nes- 
bitt had no fashionable pretensions whatever ; 
nor would Laburnum Cottage, Clapham, where 
she resided, easily have lent itself to the most 
modest of social functions. When we say 
that Mrs. Nesbitt was at home we merely 
mean that, upon the evening of the day of 
Morley Griffin’s trial, she was seated in her 
back parlor engaged in making up accounts 
from two portentous-looking ledgers : a 
small, spare, grey-haired, keen-eyed woman, 
plainly dressed in black, and whose age might 
be anything between fifty and sixty. A woman 
whom the least careful observer would unhesi- 
tatingly set down after a single glance at the 
aquiline nose and the thin, pursed lips, as pos- 
sessed of determination and shrewdness in a 
high degree. 

To her neighbors Mrs. Nesbitt had long 
been somewhat of a mystery. Many years be- 
fore she had purchased Laburnum Cottage, 


6o 


Bartmoor, 


where, attended by a single servant older than 
herself, she had lived a life of almost total 
seclusion, so far as the neighborhood was con- 
cerned, ever since. Visitors, indeed, she had at 
frequent intervals from London. It was no un- 
common thing for fashionably-attired ladies to 
descend from their coroneted or crested car- 
riages and remain closeted with her for lengthy 
periods. 

F ootmen were occasionally observed to follow 
their mistresses inside, carrying box-shaped 
parcels, which were not taken away again. 
Money, too, Mrs. Nesbitt clearly had, for had 
she not gradually purchased half-a-dozen houses 
in the neighborhood } But in Clapham she 
had, in all these years, made no acquaintances, 
was rarely seen out of doors, paid her accounts 
weekly through her old servant (who was as 
unsociable as herself), and, in short, led an ex- 
istence of mingled respectability and mystery 
most aggravating to the local gossips. 

We have said that, upon the evening of the 
trial, Mrs. Nesbitt was engaged upon her 
ledgers ; yet, from the frequent pauses that 
she made and the look of expectancy on her 
shrewd old face, it was clear her thoughts 
were not wholly in her work. 

“ Eight o’clock,” she muttered, presently, 
“ and no news yet, though he knows how 
anxious I am to learn the result. No thought, 
no consideration for me — as usual,” she added, 


jfflbre. IResbitt at 1bome. 


6i 


biueiiy. “ Stay ! 1 can send Judith for an 

evening paper. ” 

Old Judith departed upon this errand, grum- 
bling at the distance from the nearest agency, 
and returned with a special edition of the Stand- 
ard, which her mistress proceeded to scan with 
great eagerness. She quickly found the infor- 
mation she sought, and her eyes gleamed as she 
read that Morley Griffin had been convicted of 
forgery and sentenced to seven years’ penal 
servitude. 

“ Seven years ! ” she cried aloud, in her satis- 
faction. “ That is good, indeed — more than we 
hoped for — more than enough for our purpose. 
Ha! what is this? Terrible scene in court ! . . .” 

With blanched cheeks she read the highly- 
seasoned version, given by the reporter, of the 
prisoner’s murderous onslaught upon his prose- 
cutor. “ We understand,” the report con- 
cluded, “ that Mr. Hugh Darrell’s injuries are 
such as to cause the gravest anxiety, whilst the 
prisoner is scarcely in better case.” 

The newspaper fell from the old woman’s 
hand, and, for a time, she appeared to be half- 
stunned by the intelligence. Then she rose to 
her feet and hastened, with unsteady steps, 
from the room. 

“ Judith ! ” she cried. “ My shawl and bon- 
net ! Quick ! Master Hugh is lying at death's 
door, and my place is by his side. Quick, 
woman, I say ! ” 


3 


62 Bartmoor, 

IJut, even as Mrs. Nesbitt was hurrying forth 
in quest of a cab, she ran against a telegrapli 
messenger, who handed her a despatch. 

“ Newspaper report exaggerated,” it ran. 
“ Unconscious several hours and nerves un- 
strung. Am now able to journey in brougham. 
Prepare room. Shall be down by ten to-night. 
— Hugh.” 

Mrs. Nesbitt was not a piously-inclined 
woman, nor did she rent a pew. Yet an invol- 
untary “ Thank God ! ” rose to her pale lips as 
she read this message. Whatever the rest of 
the world might think of Hugh Darrell, he was 
clearly very dear to this aged recluse. 

A little after the hour specified, he arrived. 
A white muffler was round his throat, he 
looked very pale, and his limbs trembled under 
him ; but his condition was not such as to 
inspire alarm. As a matter of fact, the imme- 
diate effects of semi-strangulation rapidly wear 
off once respiration is restored. 

“ There, Martha, that will do ! ” he exclaimed, 
impatiently, after he had submitted to the old 
woman’s embrace. “ There’s no real harm 
done ; though, had that devil held his grip for 
another half-minute, you’d have had the task of 
laying me out instead of looking after me for a 
couple of days. I couldn’t stand the visitors 
and inquiries at my rooms, and so I have run 
down to my old nurse until I am fit to wear a 
collar again.” 


» 


jflRre. IWesbitt at Ibome. 


63 


“• And right glad your old nurse is to have 
you with her, Master Hugh,” was the reply, 
uttered in a voice so full of affection and pleas- 
ure that old Judith, accustomed only to the 
sharp tones of reproof or command, stared at 
her mistress as though wondering where such 
unwonted sounds had come from. But she 
soon found other matter to think about, in the 
preparation of supper, which Darrell’s injured 
throat made it necessary should be of an 
especially delicate description. * 

Over this meal, Mrs. Nesbitt and he discussed 
recent events in all their bearings, and it at 
once became evident that a thorough under- 
standing existed between the two. Darrell, 
whose voice was, naturally, still weak, confined 
himself to a brief account of the trial and of the 
struggle in court, and wound up by asking the 
old nurse for an exact statement of her opinion 
of matters as they then stood. 

“ I can’t talk much at present,” he remarked ; 
but I can listen to what you have to say, and 
perhaps put you right upon certain points.” 

“Very well. Master Hugh,” assented Mrs. 
Nesbitt. “ Then I cannot do better than run 
briefly over the past. That should help to fix 
our ideas as to the probabilities of the future.” 
Darrell nodded. “ Go ahead, nurse,” he said, 
“ Thirty years ago,” continued Mrs. Nesbitt, 
“ I, a young widow of small means, was em.- 
ployed by the late Colonel Hewitt Griffin (uncle 


64 


Dartmoor/ 


to this Morley Griffin) to act as nurse to you, 
then a mere infant, and to bring you up as my 
own child at Worthing, where I then resided.” 

“From which I have always concluded,” put 
in Darrell, bitterly, “that Hewitt Griffin was 
my father and I myself illegitimate. But who 
the deuce was my mother ? ” 

“ The Colonel always observ-ed extreme reti- 
cence on that point,” was the reply. “ Illegiti- 
mate you certainly were, since Colonel Griffin 
\fas never married, and eventually died, consti- 
tuting his nephew, Morley Griffin, his principal 
heir, under certain specified conditions, the 
most important of which were that he should 
not succeed to the capital of the inheritance 
until he attained the age of twenty-three, and 
that he should, up to that age, have done noth- 
ing to disqualify himself from claiming the 
position of a gentleman.” 

“ Such as committing forgery, for instance,” 
observed Darrell, with a sinister laugh, which 
was echoed by the old w^oman. 

“Well,” she resumed, “you remained with 
me until you were old enough to go to school 
— first here, and then in France and Germany 
— for it must be admitted that your father 
spared no expense to give you a first-class edu- 
cation. I then accepted the position of house- 
keeper to Colonel Griffin, who, although he 
provided for you liberally, for some reason 
steadily refused ever to see you. This position 


/IRr6. IResbftt at Ibomc. 


65 


I retained until his death. By the same Will 
which made his nephew his heir, he left me an 
annuity of ;^ioo ‘ for long and faithful service,' 
and a sum of ^1,000 in trust for you (whom he 
described as ‘my son Hugh’) until your 
twenty-fifth birthday. I had saved some 
money, and forthwith established myself here, 
where I embarked upon Jfiusiness as a confi- 
dential financial agent, and with considerable 
success. I invested your thousand pounds in 
this business, and, as you know, I was able to 
hand you ;(^3,5oo the day you were twenty-five. 
As you know, too, I have never been back- 
ward in helping you further out of my own 
resources, and, I must say, you have shown 
yourself capable of taking your own part in 
the world under the fresh name you selected. 
Ah ! Master Hugh ! Those are proud moments 
for me when I see your name figuring amongst 
those of high-born guests at some grand enter- 
tainment.” 

“ Yes,” assented Darrell, complacently, “ I 
have contrived to keep up the appearance of 
being a wealthy man, and the world has taken 
me at my own valuation. By the way, that 
Hyperion coup came just in the nick of time ; 
the expenses of the season had run me down 
rather low just then. And what a magnificent 
coup it was ! I put the horse about at the clubs 
as a moral certainty for the Cup, got my com- 
missioner to lay against him all he could, 


66 


2)artmoor* 


painted Hyperion’s bit with iiicx vomica, and 
hey presto ! the trick was done ! And what 
trouble I had to persuade Aaronson to advance 
me ;^8oo to buy the horse ! Why, I cleared 
^8,000 over that Goodwood Cup, and some of 
the silly gulls (including our convict Morley 
Griffin himself) sympathized with me over my 
supposed losses ! Was it not splendid ? ” 

“ Yes, Master Hugh,” chuckled the nurse, 
“ you managed it well. But,” she added, more 
seriously, “ was it wise to waste so much money 
hiring that yacht at Naples } ” 

“Certainly it was, Martha,” answered Dar- 
rell. “ I had an object in view— to smooth the 
way for my intended marriage with Ethel Con- 
yers, by figuring as a rich man in the eyes of 
her mother. Now that Morley Griffin is re- 
moved from my path, I have only to choose a 
judicious moment to propose, to be accepted. 
I think I played those cards well. And now, 
nurse, tell me, how do you think we stand as 
regards the Will } Aaronson seems doubtful 
whether the Courts will uphold the forfeiture 
clause.” 

“ Then Aaronson is a bigger fool than I 
thought him ! ” answered Mrs. Nesbitt, angrily. 
“ What ! Colonel Griffin expressly provides 
that in the event of Morley Griffin dying with- 
out issue before attaining the age of twenty- 
three, or in the case of his committing any act 
unfitting him for the society of gentlemen, the 


/lRr0» IReebitt at Ibome. 


67 


whole of the money shall go to me with rever- 
sion to you (whom he again describes as ‘ Hugh» 
son of my said housekeeper, Martha Nesbitt ’). 
Morley Griffin becomes a convicted forger. 
How can the Courts override so plain a forfei- 
ture of his claim ? As well say at once that it is 
useless making a Will at all ! ” 

“ It sounds reasonable, certainly, as you put 
it,” assented Darrell. “I suppose,” he added 
drily, “ when you come into all this money, 
Martha, you’ll let me have some of it to go on 
with ? ” 

“ For any reasonable purpose, yes. Master 
Hugh,” answered the old nurse, a little stiffly, 
for money was very dear to her heart. “ In 
any case, you’ll come into everything at my 
death.” 

“ Pshaw, nurse ! ” exclaimed Darrell, casting 
a keen glance at the old woman’s wiry figure- 
“ You’re good for another twenty years at least ; 
you’ll bury me, most likely.” 

Something in the speaker’s tone grated upon 
the nurse’s ear, despite the almost jocular sense 
of the words. Could it be that this man, 
whom she had reared and watched over, and 
loved from infancy, secretly cared more for her 
possessions than for herself ? 

“ I trust not. Master Hugh,” she said, with a 
quivering of the thin lips. “ My dearest hope 
is that, when my time comes, you may be there 
to close my eyes.” 


68 


5)artmoor» 


“ The sooner the better,” muttered Darrell, 
as the old woman hastily withdrew upon a pre' 
text of assisting Judith in preparing his bed- 
room. “ But my experience is that these lean 
old females are immortal. ... 1 wonder how 
Morley Griffin feels now ? Ha ! ha ! It was a 
bold game and well played ! That post-dating 
the bill floored him utterly, especially as old 
Aaronson gave him notes instead of a cheque. 
’Cute old fox, that. Let me see. Seven 
years. That means about six years, I believe, 
if he behaves well and becomes entitled to a 
ticket-of-leave. Ah, well ! He must not be 
allowed to play the part of the model convict, 
and he certainly did not establish a reputation 
for docility to-day. I hear he half-killed four 
policemen this evening before they got him into 
the van, to say nothing of the 'fight in court. 
No doubt he could be stirred up into insubordi- 
nation, later on, resulting in additions to his 
sentence. I have even heard of deaths occur- 
ing unexpectedly at Portland and Dartmoor. I 
have plenty of time, anyhow, to inquire into 
these prison secrets ; but I must not forget that, 
if ever Morley Griffin regained his freedom, it 
would go hard with me. Ugh ! What Titanic 
strength the fellow has ! I fancy I can feel his 
grip upon my throat, curse him ! ” 


Ipcobation,'^ 


69 


CHAPTER VII. 

“PROBATION.” 

Although this story is called “ Dartmoor,” 
and is, in a sense, a convict story, it is not pro- 
posed to dwell, at any length, upon the every- 
day incidents of convict life. Those interested 
in such details will find them abundantly in 
Charles Reade’s novel, It's Never Too Late to 
Mend, and in other works written by men who 
have actually served sentences. A short 
chapter will, therefore, suffice to describe Mor- 
ley Griffin’s experiences during what is officially 
termed the “probationary” period of his in- 
carceration. 

Having exchanged his own clothes for those 
provided by the prison regulations, the newly- 
made convict was marched up several flights of 
stairs and locked up in the cell which was 
destined to be his abode during the ensuing 
nine months. The furniture of this small 
apartment was scanty and of the simplest. A 
stretcher to sleep upon, a stool, a small table, a 
metal water-jug, a slate, pencil, and Bible ; 
these were the fittings. Some bread, and a 
weak, tasteless mess of gruel were brought to 


70 


2)artmoor. 


him for supper ; and he was left to his own 
meditations until 6 A. M. next morning. 

Then there followed a routine of cleaning out 
his cell, of oakum-picking by way of work 
(fancy putting a man who could up-end several 
hundred-weights to pick oakum !) ; of more 
gruel by way of breakfast ; of a solitary prome- 
nade up and down a corridor for an hour by 
way of exercise ; of bread, meat, and the water 
it had been boiled in, by way of dinner ; of 
more oakum-picking, more gruel, and finally 
twelve hours’ sleep or meditation to wind up 
with. From morn till night not a soul did he 
see except the warder who brought him his 
food and his oakum, and even with him he was 
forbidden to speak. 

Fora couple of days he was too crushed by 
mental anguish to pay much heed to aught 
else. He did what he was told to do quietly 
and mechanically, picked his oakum as well as 
he could, ate his allowance of food, and slept 
when the recollection of his wrongs would 
allow.hinn to do so. 

Upon the third day he was brought before 
the governor of the prison, who briefly told 
him that any infraction of the rules placarded 
in his cell would be followed by condign pun- 
ishment : that he had arrived with an evil repu- 
tation for violence and insubordination, and 
that he would best consult his own interests by 
a tranquil and respectful behavior. After 


'' {probation/' 71 

which exhortation he was marched back to his 
cell. 

But, a few hours later, he was visited by the 
chaplain, and with him he was permitted to 
converse. The reverend gentleman listened to 
what he had to say, but made it abundantly 
clear that he did not believe his story. Upon 
his side, he favored him with some stereotyped 
remarks upon the wickedness of sin, and the 
penalties of unrighteousness. Both these in- 
terviews were clearly calculated to produce a 
deep impression, and were in strict conformity 
with the regulations sanctioned by the Directors 
of Her Majesty’s prisons. But, that same even- 
ing, he had a third interview (which the said 
regulations would by no means have sanc- 
tioned), with the warder who had special 
charge of the story upon which his cell was 
situated. 

“ I’ve seen a friend of yours outside,” 
remarked this official, by way of preface, “ and 
from what he tells me, I feel disposed to take 
an interest in making things a bit comfortable 
for you.” 

“ A friend of mine ? ” repeated Morley, 
eagerly. Who is it ? Mr. Dyver ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the warder, “ that’s his 
name right enough — the Honorable Robert 
Dyver. And a very pleasant, free-handed gen- 
tleman he is, too. He gave me a letter for 
you ” 


72 


2)artmoor. 


“ Dear old Bob ! ” interrupted Morley. 

• “ Where is it ? ” 

“ Here it is, sir,” was the reply. ” If you’ll 
come along to the store-room, you can have a 
bit of something to eat whilst you’re reading 
it.” 

The store-room referred to was at the end of 
the landing, and thither the friendly warder, 
Ricketts by name, conducted the prisoner. 
Upon a table stood a solid, appetizing supper, 
flanked by a large bottle of stout. 

“ There you are, sir,” remarked Mr. Ricketts. 
“ That’s the best I can do for you this even- 
ing. There ain’t much chance of the chief 
coming round, but I’ll go and keep watch whilst 
you have a feed. If you hear me cough twice, 
scoot back to your cell as quick as you can. 
I can’t give you more than twenty minutes any- 
how.” 

Morley’s first care was to read the letter, 
which ran thus : — 

“ Dear M., — Keep your heart up, old chap, 
and rest assured that no efforts will be spared 
to unmask the scoundrelly plot, of which you 
have been the victim. I insulted H. D. publicly 
in the club this morning, and, had he not looked 
so pulled down after the choking you gave him 
in court, I would have thrashed him. Trust 
me, no one shall take * his view of the case 


** Iprobation/' 


73 


whilst I am about. 1 am sure everything will 
come out right soon. 

“ Meanwhile, I have been studying the econ- 
omy of Her Majesty’s gaols, and, as I got my 
information from the lips of a ticket-of-leave 
man, whom I managed to ferret out in Convent 
Garden, I can rely upon it. You are now 
being subjected to the ‘ silent system ’ in Pen- 
tonville, as a sort of special training for Port- 
land or Dartmoor, and I know from my inform- 
ant exactly what you have to undergo. But it 
seems that your position can be vastly im- 
proved by bribing the warder who has especial 
charge of you, and I have managed, after some 
little trouble, to discover and arrange matters 
with this individual. You must simply consider 
yourself as being on board ship for the time 
being and this fellow as a steward. He under- 
takes (for a consideration satisfactory to us 
both) to supply you with anything and every- 
thing you need in the way of food, liquor, and 
such other luxuries as it may be possible for 
him to smuggle in. Of course, he will post 
letters for you, and receive replies at his own 
address. Let me know that you get this safely, 
and that R. acts up to the mark. 

“ Yours as ever, D.” 

This was indeed a cheering letter, and Mor- 
ley read it through twice before he burnt it (for 
fear of accidents) in the flame of the candle. 


74 


2)artmoor. 


Then he made an excellent meal, and was just 
finishing the stout when Ricketts returned to 
warn him that the time was up. 

After this, ekcept for the galling restraint of 
prison life, Morley had little to complain of; 
and the frequent, hopeful letters of his staunch 
friend, Bob Dyver, by begetting confidence in 
his speedy release, made even confinement not 
wholly unendurable. He had his Standard 
with his breakfast, and his Pa// Ma// Gazette 
every evening ; he ordered what he pleased 
(within reasonable limits) to eat, and, had he 
chosen, he might have indulged freely in 
whisky. But, in point of fact, his period of 
training had broken him off stimulants and to- 
bacco, and he was far too sensible to revive such 
dangerous habits. 

But, as the time sped on, the dreary monot- 
ony of his life grew more and more irksome. 
Bob Dyver’s letters, it is true, continued to 
breathe a hopeful strain ; but hope too long de- 
ferred, as we all know, maketh the heart sick, 
and at times poor Morley ’s was very sick indeed 
within him. Neither of Hugh Darrell nor of 
Ethel Conyers had his friend been able to ob- 
tain any news. Both appeared temporarily to 
have disappeared from the ken of society. 

The friendly terms upon which he stood with 
Warder Ricketts naturally precluded him from 
forming any plan of escape from Pentonville, 
but he sometimes discussed the possibilities of 


‘‘ probation/' 75 

g^etting away should he be sent on to Dart- 
• moor. 

“ Well, sir, it’s just this way,” the warder 
would remark. “ If your friend don’t get your 
sentence reversed afore you leave here, it 'pears 
to me you’ll have to serve it right thi'ough. 
And, of course, down at Dartmoor or Portland 
you won’t be comfortable like you are here. 
They’re regular hells on earth to live in, sir, and 
no mistake ; and even a friendly warder can’t 
do much for a prisoner down there. So if you 
can fix up any plan to escape after you leave 
Pentonville, do it — and good luck attend you, 
sir.” 

The governor, chief warder, chaplain, and 
other superior officials of the prison were at 
first considerably surprised at the orderly con- 
duct of the prisoner, who had come to them 
with such a terrible reputation for ferocity and 
recklessness ; but as the time wore on, and 
Ricketts’ reports were invariably favorable, they 
gradually settled down to the comfortable be- 
lief that Morley Griffin was a notable and satis- 
factory instance of the beneficent results pro- 
duced by the silent system — a system invented 
by. and championed by, all those responsible for 
the conduct and safe-keeping of criminals. No 
doubt these high authorities are right ; they 
certainly have ample experience to guide them 
in forming a correct opinion. But it is not quite 
clear to the inexperienced mind, why, after 


76 


5)artmoor. 


seeking to reform the evil-doer, by isolating him 
during nine months from other evil-doers, he • 
should afterwards be sent to serve out the rest 
of his sentence amongst gangs of the very 
worst criminals the country produces. One 
could ^lore easily understand the reforming 
process taking place during the last nine 
months of a sentence, if, indeed, it be expedient 
to herd criminals together at all. The cynic 
will, of course, declare that no such thing as re- 
formation is intended at all; that to diminish 
crime would simply deprive many of the gaolers 
and chaplains of billets which they now enjoy ; 
and that the silent system precedes the Univer- 
sity curriculum in crime at Portland or Dart- 
moor simply in order to break the convict’s 
spirit, and make him hail even chain-gang work 
as a relief from the deadly monotony of Penton- 
ville. But, then, of course, cynics always say 
unpleasant things. 

It must not be supposed that Morley enjoyed 
a monopoly of Warder Ricketts’ good offices. 
Oh, dear, no ! That astute official had half-a- 
dozen other paying clients amongst the forty 
prisoners entrusted to his charge ; and his prof- 
its between January and December probably 
exceeded the annual stipend of the governor 
himself. This latter functionary made an 
official round of inspection once a week, and 
Mr. Ricketts always knew beforehand exactly 
when to expect him. Upon these occasions 


probation/’ 


77 


the discipline observed was more than Spartan 
in its severity. A couple of prisoners, armed 
with brooms, were stationed far apart from 
each other, and, at the right moment, were dis- 
covered sweeping a spoonful of dust carefully 
saved for the purpose. 

“ ’Tshun ! ” Mr. Ricketts would bawl, with 
every appearance of being taken wholly by sur- 
prise by the great man’s visit. “ ’Ands to your 
sides ! Heyes to your front ! ” 

Then cell after cell would be opened, and 
each occupant found to be industriously per- 
forming his allotted task. But, half-an-hour 
later, the paying clients would be chatting or 
playing poker in the store-room, scouts being 
always posted to guard against all possibilities 
of a surprise visit. A s'trangely-assorted lot 
they were, too, these paying clients. There 
was a parson, who had eked out an inadequate 
stipend by forging scrip of a company of 
which he had been a director. A bank- 
accountant, who had provided for .an advanced 
young woman at St. John’s Wood, at the ex- 
pense of his employers. A jeweler, who had 
substituted paste for diamonds in a tiara in- 
trusted to him to repair. A meek individual, 
who had narrowly escaped the gallows for hav- 
ing assisted Nature to make him a widower. 
The most remarkable thing was, that all these 
persons were innocent of the crimes laid to 
their doors. They said so themselves, and, of 


78 


5)artmoor. 


course, they must have known. The only one 
who admitted the justice of his conviction was 
a broken-down Army man, much addicted to 
strong waters and still stronger language . 

“ Seven years ! ” he used to exclaim, with a 
chuckle. “ I deserved seventy ! And when I 
think of the nice little nest-egg waiting for me 
when I get out, I consider the provision dirt 
cheap at the price. Dirt cheap, sir — damme I ” 

For a long time Morley Griffin shunned the 
society of these Pentonville aristocrats. But, 
by degrees, weariness of his own company 
drove him into theirs. He had no doubt that 
they were one and all real criminals, but were 
they not equally justified in regarding him as 
one ? And would not the law presently force him 
into the companionship of monsters beside 
whom these men were relatively snow-white ? 

Thus the time parsed wearily, monotonously, 
during the allotted probationary period ; and one 
day Morley Griffin learned from Mr, Ricketts 
that orders had arrived for his transference to 
Dartmoor. 

“ I’m right down sorry to lose you, sir,” re- 
marked this corrupt but good-natured officer. 
This was, doubtless, very true. The Hon. Bob 
Dyver was an exceptionally liberal and unques- 
tioning paymaster. “ But you’ve got to go, 
and that to-morrow. So if you have any 
letter to send, let me have it this evening.” 

Morley did write and, of course, to his friend. 


Iprobation/' 


79 


“ Dear Boh,” the letter ran, “ I have just 
learned that I am to be sent to Dartmoor to- 
morrow. This means of course, old fellow, 
that all your well-meant efforts to secure my 
release have failed ; and. indeed, judging from 
the scoundrels I see here, who all protest their 
innocence, I can quite understand that, once a 
man has been sentenced, his guilt is taken for 
granted. Now, it seems that, if I serve my 
sentence quietly I may expect to be released 
upon a ticket-of-leave in five years’ time. Five 
years ! Think of it. Bob ! Five years of a life 
compared to which R. assures me this is a per- 
fect paradise ! I have made up my mind, old 
chap. 1 shall make my escape the first mo- 
ment I see a chance. This may offer itself on 
the way down to Dartmoor, or I may have to 
wait for a better opportunity down there. But 
escape I must and I .shall ! And when I do, 
let H. D. look well to himself, for the next time 
his eyes meet mine his end will be very near ! 
Good-bye, dear old fellow. Something tells 
me we shall meet again long before five years. 
By the way, I enclose an order upon my lawyers 
in your favor for ^300. They have plenty of 
money of mine, and I can’t allow you to be out 
of pocket by your kindness to me here. Give 
my regards to such of our lot as still believe 
in — 

“ Yours as ever, 

“ M. G.” 


8o 


2)artmoor. 


Morley Griffin’s hopes of escape during the 
journey were doomed to disappointment. 
Mindful of his gigantic strength and desperate 
courage, the authorities took the special precau- 
tion of leg-ironing as well as hand-cuffing him ; 
and, with a stalwart constable on either side of 
him, he was absolutely helpless. The train 
started very early in the morning ; but, early as 
it was. Bob Dyver was at the station to see him 
off. 

“ Now then, sir, stand back ! ” cried one of 
the warders. 

“ Stand back, be d d ! ” retorted the 

warmhearted young patrician. “ Would you 
stand back if the best friend you had in the 
world was being dragged away in chains for a 
crime he never committed ? ” 

And fairly breaking down. Bob Dyver’s tears 
fell upon the manacled hands which he clasped 
in his own. 

After all, even warders and policemen are 
human, and no very forcible attempt was made 
to interrupt the leave-taking, until Griffin was 
ordered to enter a compartment, into which 
his escort immediately followed him. 

The prisoner’s heart was too full for many 
words ; but the presence of the one man, of all 
his so-called friends, who had stood, and still 
stood, so staunchly by him, acted upon him like 
strong wine. 

“Good-bye, Bob!” he cried, when at length 


^‘probation/' 8i 

the train started ; “ we shall meet again, never 
fear ! ” 

“ Good-bye, dear old chap ! ” was the reply, 
as Bob Dyver’s hand momentarily sought that 
of one of the constables. “ I shall give the 
Home Secretary no rest until he sends down 
your release ! ” 

Morley Griffin smiled grimly, and the last 
look which his friend caught of his face caused 
him to mutter to himself, as he sadly sought 
his hansom : 

“ Poor old Morley ! He means to escape, 
that’s plain ; but, judging from the way he is 
guarded, he’ll never get even the ghost of a 
chance, P'ancy two powerful constables to 
escort a single prisoner ironed hand and foot ! 
It’s downright mean! ... No good!” he 
added to the driver of his cab. “ The mare 
won’t be called upon to travel, after all,” 

Now, it was somewhat remarkable that the 
mare in question should have been the Hon. 
Bob’s own celebrated trotter, “ Madeline,” and 
the driver his own groom, Walters. Appar- 
ently, had an escape been possible at the sta- 
tion, means of rapid flight had been provided. 

“ More’s the pity, sir,” replied the pseudo- 
cabby. “ She was never fitter in her life ! ” 

Ah ! Bob Dyver, with all your wildness, your 
heart was good ! It is not everyone who would 
risk a felony to assist a friend. 


82 


2)artmoor, 


CHAPTER VIII. 

AT NAPLES. 

With his victim safely under lock and key 
at Pentonville, as a preliminary to the yet more 
degrading fate in store for him at Portland or 
Dartmoor, Hugh Darrell assured himself that 
his schemes bade fair to succeed in every par- 
ticular. It is true that, thanks mainly to the 
Hon. Bob, D^'vers’s action and influence, he 
found himself practically ostracized from the 
set which he had heretofore been justified in re- 
garding as his own. Men with whom he had 
hitherto been on terms of intimacy now re- 
turned his salutations with the coldest of nods 
or cut him altogether. 

If he attempted to join in a conversation in a 
club smoking-room, a dead silence ensued until 
he had withdrawn. If he volunteered to cut in 
at a rubber of whist, the party at once broke 
up. He found the doors of most of the best 
houses, to which he had formerly had access, 
now closed to him. In short, he soon discov- 
ered that the example set by Dyver and copied 
by that young nobleman’s numerous friends 
was being followed by all the best people. 


Bt IRaplee. 


83 


And, in the end, matters were made so uncom- 
fortable for him, that he decided to live abroad 
until the Morley Griffin scandal should have 
blown over. 

Yet, although this enforced temporary exile 
galled him to the quick, it was [not without its 
compensating advantages. Lady Conyers had 
become bitten with a mania for foreign travel, 
and, except for a brief stay in London during 
the ensuing season, resided abroad with her 
daughter. Her movements were easily traced, 
and, by the exercise of a little tact, Darrell was 
enabled to see a good deal of the girl whom he 
had sworn to make his wife. The verdicts of 
society are far-reaching, and, at first, his 
advances were coldly received by both mother 
and daughter. But Lady Conyers, already prej- 
udiced against Griffin as a troublesome ineli- 
gible, gradually came round to view the matter 
from Darrell’s point of view, the more espe- 
cially as he had more than once made himSelf 
extremely useful to her en voyage. 

“ You see. Lady Conyers,” he would remark, 
with a well-affected air of injured innocence, 
“ it is very hard lines on me that I should be 
blamed because Griffin came to grief. What 
could I do } The man deliberately forged my 
signature and raised money on the bill to pay 
his gambling debts. How could I commit 
perjury and compound a felony by swearing 
the signature was genuine.^ Yet that is what 


84 


2)artmoor. 


Dyver and his partisans seem to think I should 
have done.” 

And, by constant repetition of this species of 
special pleading, Darrell successfully posed in 
her ladyship’s eyes as a much-maligned martyr 
to duty. 

Moreover, the man was obviously wealthy 
and, equally obviously, deeply in love with 
Ethel, who, after a first natural outbreak of 
grief at her former lover’s fate, had apparently 
become resigned to his loss. The girl had 
doubtless been really fond of her stalwart 
wooer, and, given any reasonable prospect 
of marriage with him, might have mustered 
sufficient resolution to wait until ' his fortunes 
should improve. But Morley was in prison — a 
convict, sentenced to a long term of penal servi- 
tude for a terrible crime. It was true he had 
sent her an impassioned letter from Pentonville, 
protesting his innocence, accusing Hugh Darrell 
of treachery, and imploring her to disregard 
the verdict of the jury. But Ethel Conyers 
was not made of heroic clay. She had not 
sufficient faith in her lover to believe him 
against the world, nor to wait seven years in 
order that he might essay to prove his inno- 
cence. Some tears she shed, but she did not 
answer the letter. 

Given a gook looking, wealthy, devoted ad- 
mirer as clever and plausible as was Hugh 
Darrell ; given, too, a strong-willed mother who 


Bt IWaples. 


85 


encourages this admirer’s suit ; and given a not 
over-lively suburb of Naples as the scene of 
the final wooing ; given, we say, all these sur- 
roundings, and what wonder if, little more 
than a year after Griffin’s trial, Ethel Conyers 
became Hugh Darrell’s wife ? 

For perhaps the first time in her worldly- 
wise life, Lady Conyers had allowed her wonted 
vigilance in business matters to lie dormant. 
That Hugh Darrell was a wealthy man she 
had not the smallest doubt ; and when the 
question of settlements upon Ethel came up 
for discussion, she was as wax in the hands of 
her astute son-in-law elect. He produced a 
bewildering mass of documents (those that 
were not forgeries being title-deeds of Mrs. 
Nesbitt’s various possessions, borrowed for 
the occasion), which made it clear that he was 
worth at least £^,000 a year. 

“ As regards Ethel’s ;^io,ooo,” he remarked, 
loftily, “ that I propose to settle entirely on her- 
self. The interest should suffice for pin- 
money, Lady Conyers * 

“ Certainly,” was the reply, “ it is a very 
liberal allowance.” 

“ For the rest,” continued Darrell, “ I am, as 
you have perhaps divined, what is termed a 
good business man. I believe in making money 
as well as in spending it. As you see, my in- 
come is already a decent one, but I see my way 
to making it increase year by year. To do this 


86 


Dartmoor, 


I require the use of all the capital at my com- 
mand, and instead of withdrawing a supple- 
mentary ^10,000 to settle upon Ethel, in addi- 
tion to her own, I have insured my life in her 
favor to that amount. It comes to exactly the 
same thing, and it pays me better. See ! Here 
are the receipts for premium. Do you follow 
me, Lady Conyers } ” 

“Yes,” assented her ladyship, a little doubt- 
fully. “Should you die, this ^10,000 will be 
paid to Ethel ? ” 

“ Quite so,” said Darrell. “ Here is the deed 
to that effect. Moreover, here is my Will, en- 
tirely in her favor, whereby I leave her all that 
I may die possessed of, with . reversion, of 
course, to our children, should there be any. 
In short, Ethel will share what I hope will be a 
large and increasing income whilst I live, and, 
at my death, she will have £ 20,000 at her abso- 
lute disposal, together with a life interest in my 
entire estate. Does this meet your views } 
Take time to consider. Of course, your own 
lawyers will see that the terms I offer are prop- 
erly carried out.” 

This last sentence settled whatever lingering 
doubts remained in Lady Conyers’s mind — as 
Darrell intended it should. If these proposals 
were sufficiently genuine to pass muster with 
Screwitt and Sharpe, of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 
they were liberal in the extreme. Ethel’s own 

1 0,000 was certainly secure. So, too, was 


Bt IWaples, 


87 


the insurance money. Darrell was undoubtedly 
a clever man, a man of the world, quite capable 
of making a hugh income out of his capital, 
as he said. That would be pleasant, very 
pleasant. There are great advantages in hav- 
ing a rich son-in-law to keep up establishments 
and defray the cost of yachts. Ethel would be 
off her hands, and she foresaw a share for her- 
self in the young wife’s coming prosperity. 
Lastly, at the worst, and supposing Darrell came 
to grief, there was no getting away from the 
^20,000 settled upon her. Lady Conyers made 
up her mind, but, woman-like, she did not at 
once say so. 

“ I shall think over what you have said, Mr. 
Darrell,” she remarked. “ If you will dine 
with us this evening, I will let you know my 
decision.” 

Hugh Darrell bowed and turned his head to 
conceal the cynical smile of triumph that forced 
his lips apart. 

“ I leave my fate entirely in your ladyship’s 
hands,” he made answer, “feeling well-assured 
that you will do me justice. I shall be here at 
seven o’clock.” 

And, it being still early in the afternoon, 
Hugh Darrell drove off to make love to a pretty 
contadina, who had struck his vicious fancy. 

“ I see exactly what’s coming,” he solilo- 
quized, as the clumsy conveyance, with loud 
cracking of whip, jolted along at a five-mile-an- 


88 


2)artmoor. 


hour pace. “ Subject to Screwitt and Sharpe’s 
approval of my papers, Ethel is mine. Mine ! 
Do you hear, Morley Griffin ? Not yours, you 
overgrown ass ! But mine — the property, body 
and soul, of me, Hugh Darrell, your bastard 
cousin, whom my father sought to rob to make 
you his heir ! Curse him and curse you ! . . . 
I am driving along a picturesque road, in balmy 
air, to meet a charming little Italian girl, and 
to-night the date of my marriage with your 
lady-love will be fixed. What are you doing 
. . . Let me see. . . . They have shifted you 
to Dartmoor, haven’t they.^ Unpleasant place, 
I should say, in the month of January. I dare- 
say at the present moment you are chopping 
wood, or, as you’re a giant, quarrying rock, 
with an east wind whistling through your con- 
vict uniform! Ha! ha ! ha ! . . . Fools talk 
about the All-wise Providence, which never 
allows the innocent to suffer in the long run, and 
which metes out justice even m this world ! 
What do yoti think You were innocent 
enough— I never came across such a simpleton. 
Yet you have suffered, haven’t you } Aye, and 
as to the ‘long run,’ I’ll look after that. I take 
a great interest in you still, Morley Griffin, and 
I intend to visit Dartmoor pretty soon — shortly 
after our honeymoon, my convict friend. I 
don’t think I shall take Ethel down to see you, 
though I should like to. I doubt if I shall even 
risk seeing you myself. You have the strength 


Bt 1Raple5. 


89 


of ten devils in you, you know, and 1 shouldn’t 
care to rely on a few warders as a safeguard if 
we met face to face. But I shall visit Prince- 
town, never fear. I have discovered a warder 
who, I think, may be brought to terms, and 
then, Alorley Griffin, you will need to be very 
guarded indeed in your conduct. I have made 
quite a study of the dark ways of penal servi- 
tude. I wonder what you would do if they 
flogged you ? Kill two or three of them 
Best thing you could do — ‘ best for you and 
best for me ! ’ ” And, in the ferocious exuber- 
ance of his triumph, Hugh Darrell fell to sing- 
ing the beautiful ballad, “ In the gloaming,” 
with such impromptu words as his fiendish 
humor could suggest. 

Two hours later the pretty contadina, as 
charming a sixteen-year-old Neapolitan peasant- 
girl as you shall find, returned, flushed and 
dishevelled, to her father’s cottage. Her peas- 
ant-lover, Marco Gaoli, would be round to see 
her that evening, as usual. But how could she 
meet him as heretofore } Ave Maria ! w'hat 
had befallen her } . , . She had met the hand- 
some Englishman, with the pearly teeth, and 
the grey-blue eyes, and the masterful yet win- 
ning manners, and . . . they had gone for a 
walk in the Mori woods. ... He had placed a 
diamond ring on her finger . . . had made her 
drink some sweet tasting liquor out of his flask, 


90 


2)artmoor. 


and — the rest she could not bear to think of ! 

. . . What would her father say if he knew it ? 
What would Marco say — and do — if he knew 
it ? What would her father confessor say ?— 
and he must know it the next time she went to 
confession. . . . Ah ! who could have sus- 
pected it ? A cavaliero, so perfect in his ad- 
dress, despite his bad Italian . . . and an 
Englishman — Sl gala7tttw?no hy vaiC&\ . . . God 
pardon her ! 

Aye, Teresa, God will pardon thee, never 
fear ! Even although, three days later, having 
confessed thy unwilling sin to the aged priest, 
thou didst, in very shame to meet thy lover’s 
eyes, wrap thy mantle around thy face and 
hurl thyself into the neighboring lake! Fear 
not, for God is merciful and reads all hearts. 
But even He will scarce find mercy for thy 
seducer. English.^ Yes; but there be bad 
‘ men, poor child, amongst us English. God 
rest thee 1 

Dressed with extra scrupulous care, and, to do 
him justice, looking an exceptionally handsome 
man, Hugh Darrell returned to the villa rented 
by Lady Conyers at seven o'clock. As he had 
foreseen, he was received as the accepted 
suitor. Lady Conyers greeted him with a 
certain einpressemetit. Ethel received him with 
more reserve, yet in a manner that made it 
plain she knew what was to follow. Indeed, 



Bt IRaples. 


9f 

Lady Conyers made her own decision sufficiently 
plain by leaving the young couple together in 
the drawing-room after dinner. Hugh Darrell’s 
eyes sparkled, as he seated himself upon a sofa 
beside his bride-elect. 

“ Miss Conyers— Ethel,” he began, “ to learn 
that I love you — that I have long loved you — 
cannot come to you as a surprise ; you must 
long ago have divined it. Your mother favors 
my suit. Can I, dare I, hope that you love me 
a little bit in return } Will you be my wife ? ” 

“ Yes,” was the reply, hesitatingly given, “ 1 
proffiised mamma that I would accept you. I 
will be your wife if you wish it, but I cannot 
honestly say that — I love you.” 

Hugh Darrell took the girl in his arms and 
kissed her with passionate fierceness. “ I will 
make you love me, my pretty darling;” he 
whispered, again sealing his lips to hers, until 
the slight figure trembled in his embrace. 
And, before Darrell quitted the villa, the 
marriage was fixed to take place in one month’s 
time. 

Lady Conyers duly wrote to her solicitors 
instructing them to draw up a deed of settle- 
ment in conformity with Hugh Darrell’s pro- 
posals, and this letter she showed to her 
prospective son-in-law. But she sent them (as 
she believed) a second private letter bidding 
them to satisfy themselves, by an interview 
with Darrell’s solicitors, of that gentleman’s 


92 


Bartmoor, 


financial position. Needless to say that Darrell, 
who foresaw this move and was keenly on the 
alert, contrived to intercept this second despatch. 
Consequently, Messrs. Screwitt and Sharpe, 
obeying the only instructions which had reached 
them, merely forwarded the required deed 
without comment — ample proof in her lady- 
ship’s eyes that their inquiries had been satisfac- 
tory. This deed Darrell signed, in the presence 
of the British Consul, and the marriage duly 
took place. It had been arranged that the 
honeymoon trip should include a visit to 
England, where, as Darrell alleged, he had 
important business to transact, and, immedi- 
ately after the ceremony, the newly-wedded 
couple journeyed northwards, leaving her lady- 
ship to enjoy unfettered widowhood at Naples. 
Hugh Darrell had once more triumphed. 
Ethel Conyers was his. 


Darrell v. Dgver, 


93 


CHAPTER IX. 

DARRELL V. DYVER. 

“ By Jove, that’s hot ! ” exclaimed the Hon. 
Bob Dyver, as his friend, Captain Heavyside, 
read out the announcement of the marriage 
from the Times, at the club. “ Shows you 
what women are. P'ancy her marrying the 
very man who got poor Griffin into that awful 
mess ! ” 

“ Yes,” assented the dragoon, “as you say. it 
is rather hot. I wonder the mother allowed it. 
She must know the man is no longer received 
anywhere.” 

“ She has been so much abroad,” rejoined the 
Hon. Bob, “that I expect she doesn’t quite 
realize Darrell’s position over here. If I were 
not so disgusted at the girl’s conduct, I should 
feel sorry for her. I believe Darrell to be the 
most consummate scoundrel I ever met, and 
it’s not hard to foresee the sort of husband he’ll 
make. Poor old Morley ! It seems like yes- 
terday that he was planning ways and means 
to marry Ethel Conyers himself. Should he by 
any chance learn that she has married his 
enemy, it will be a terrible blow to him ; though. 


94 


2)artmoor. 


for my part, I think I’d rather go to gaol than 
marry such a false-hearted girl as she has 
proved herself to be.” 

“ Any chance of getting Griffin’s sentence 
shortened ? ” queried the captain, who was a 
staunch believer in his innocence. 

“ I’m afraid not,” answered Dyver, shaking 
his head mournfully. “ I got the dad to bring 
all the influence he could command to bear 
upon the Home Secretary ; but it seems the 
judge who tried the case is dead against the 
poor fellow. I can’t even get an order to see 
him yet, though I hope to latter on.” 

“ Then he has five years more to serve ? ” 
remarked Heavyside. 

“ Four,” corrected his friend ; “ that is, if he 
keeps quiet. They knock off a year or so upon 
a seven years’ sentence, for good conduct. I 
say, Dick, I wonder if it would be possible to 
work out some plan of escape.^ I’ve been 
studying the matter for a long time, and it 
seems to me that, by bribing a few of the 
warders, the thing might be managed.” 

“ I’ll chip in, old fellow, if you can see your 
way,” answered the dragoon, heartily. “ I’d 
risk all I’m worth, and my skin to boot, to see 
that poor boy free once more ! ” 

“ I knew you would, Dick,” rejoined Dyver. 
“ And, if it came to a scrapping match, you’d 
be very handy.” 

Captain Heavyside, be it remarked, w’as very 


Barren v. Bgver. 


95 


nearly as big a man as Morley Griffin himself, 
and a noted boxer. 

“I’d do my best,” said the dragoon, quietly, 
“ Let me know if you see a chance, that’s 
all.” 

The final result of a lengthy discussion be- 
tween these two staunch, if also somewhat reck- 
less, friends of Morley Griffin was, that they 
decided to run down to Princetown the follow- 
ing week, “ upon a reconnoitring expedition,” as 
the captain put it. 

It is not a very difficult matter to obtain an 
order to visit a convict prison. A few lines 
from a Commissioner, or even from one of the 
higher-placed permanent officials in the Home 
Office, to the governor, are sufficient ; and such 
a letter Dyver had no difficulty in procuring. 
Accompanied by his faithful henchman, Wal- 
ters, he and Captain Heavyside accordingly 
traveled down to Princetown, as they had ar- 
ranged, and established themselves at the best 
local inn, known as “ The Spotted Dog.” The 

next day they called upon Major S , the 

governor of the gaol, presented their creden- 
tials, and were duly invited to luncheon, pre- 
paratory to an inspection of the place. 

Major S was a rigid disciplinarian, a 

man who believed that in the body of every 
convict intrusted to his charge there lurked a 
demon, which could be exorcised only by the 
aid of punishment-cells and the cat ; and, in the 


96 


Bartmoor. 


main, he was possibly right. The trouble is 
that governors of gaols do not discriminate. 
They are supposed, in consideration of the 
large salary they draw, to make the character 
of each convict a special study ; as a matter of 
fact they do nothing of the sort. Almost inva- 
riably retired Army men, with sufficient influ- 
ence to secure the billet, they simply drop into 
the position as being worth so many hundreds 
a year, and are guided entirely by the reports 
of the permanent understrappers. 

Major S was just such a type. Unpop- 

ular in his regiment, he had retired as captain, 
with brevet-rank as major ; and, his family in- 
fluence being strong, he had been hoFsted into 
his present position over the heads of men who 
had grown grey in the penal service. 

Having done justice to a fairly good lunch- 
eon, to which the chaplain and doctor had been 
invited, the Hon. Bob Dyver proceeded to busi- 
ness. 

“ You have a prisoner here, I regret to say, 
major,” he began, “ who is one of my oldest 
and dearest friends — Morley Griffin.” 

“ Indeed ! ” replied the major, “ I am sorry 
. to hear that. Let me see, Morley Griffin, you 
say ? I don’t seem to recollect the name, but 
then names become obliterated here. Do you 
know him, Mr. Robinson ? ” 

“ Yes,” assented the chaplain, “ I know him. 
He is down on the register as Z 754 — an ex- 


Darrell v. D^ver. 


97 


tremely tall, fine man, serving a seven years’ 
sentence for forgery.” 

“ The same,” remarked Dyver. “ And I 
may add that in the opinion of all those who 
knew him best, including my friend Captain 
Heavyside and myself, he is entirely innocent 
of the crime of which he was convficted.” 

“ I’d stake my life upon it,” corroborated the 
dragoon, emphatically. 

Major S shifted uneasily upon his 

chair. 

“ Your confidence in your friend does you 
both honor,” he said, glancing at the chaplain. 
“ But I am bound to say that, so far as my ex- 
perience goes, justice seldom miscarries nowa- 
days. ” 

“ It has miscarried in this case,” persisted 
Dyver, “although I fear the chances of obtain- 
ing a reversal of the sentence are remote. To 
what remission would he be entitled upon a 
ticket-of-leave ? ” 

“ Fourteen months,” was the reply. “ And 
I now remember the man of whom you speak. 
He came down here with the reputation of be- 
ing extremely violent and dangerous ; but, so 
far, he has not been reported to me for bad 
conduct. And now, if you are ready, I will 
take you over the prison,” 

Preceded by two warders, the party accord- 
ingly went the round. 

“ I suppose. Major S ,” observed Dyver, 


98 


Bartmoor. 


“ it would be against the rules to see my 
friend ? ” 

“Well, yes,” answered the governor ; “ with- 
out an order from the Home Office, I could 
not go the length of giving you a private inter- 
view. But, as I understand he is working in 
the masons’ gang, I can manage to let you see 
him for a minute or two.” 

There was much to be seen before they 
reached the scene of Morley Griffin’s labors. 
Many cells were opened and inspected. They 
passed through workshops innumerable, where 
their visit seemed to cause no little excitement, 
as, in obedience to the overseer’s commands, 
the quaintly-garbed toilers stood to attention. 
Everywhere they noticed the prev^alence of the 
two great gaol characteristics : scrupulous 
cleanliness and rigid' discipline. 

“Yes,” replied Major S , in response to a 

remark of Captain Heavyside ; “we don’t en- 
courage dirt and insubordination here. Labor 
is plentiful and punishment swift.” 

They presently reached a spot where some 
new bakehouses were in course of erection, 
and, amongst the masons, the two friends soon 
discovered Morley Griffin, looking bigger 
than ever in his parti-colored convict garb. 
Strange to say, he did not at first recognize 
them. 

“Z754, fall out!” cried one of the attend- 
ant warders, in obedience to an order from the 


5)arreU v. 5)svcr. 


90 


governor. Z 754 promptly dropped a huge 
rock, which he was carrying, and approached. 
In another instant his two hands were locked 
in those of his old friends. 

“ Morley, dear old chap ! ” exclaimed Dyver, 
eagerly scanning the prisoner’s face. “ At 
last Heavyside and I have managed to catch 
sight of you, thanks to the goodness of Major 

S . Why, how well you are looking, eh, 

Dick?” 

“ Fit as a fiddle,” assented the dragoon. 
“ I fancy a spell down here, at this sort of 
muscle-making work, would do us both a world 

of good. Couldn’t you take us in. Major S , 

for a while ? ” 

The governor laughed, a dry, official laugh. 

“ Qualify yourselves for admission,” he said, 
grimly, “ and I daresay we’ll find room for 
you. But, you know, it is almost as trouble- 
some to get into Dartmoor Gaol as it is to get 
out.” 

The warders laughed in chorus at the great 
man’s joke, and even the listening convicts 
indulged in a broad grin. 

Dyver saw that the time for conversation 
would necessarily be brief, _ and he made the 
most of it. 

“ I hope shortly to get an order from the 
Home Office to see you privately, old fellow,” 
he said, so that all might hear ; “ but mean- 
while, rest assured that everything possible is 


100 


2)artmoor. 


being done. Keep your heart up ! All of the 
old set believe in you, and the truth is bound to 
come out ere long. By the way, my lawyers 
have seen yours, and they all agree that the 
Courts will never enforce that penalty clause in 
your uncle’s Will.” 

“ What of Ethel ? ” asked Griffin, eagerly. 

“ Abroad with her mother, and quite well, I 
believe,” answered Dyver, who had not the 
heart to tell the whole truth. “ But I’d try and 
get over that folly were I you, old chap. Stick 
to the bachelor-brigade, like Dick here and 
myself. Time enough to marry twenty years 
hence.” 

Morley Griffin smiled faintly. “ As you once 
said, Bob,” he remarked, “ it is wonderful what 
a lot of matches never come off ; but my entry 
holds good if hers does.” 

“ Scratch it, Morley,” rejoined Dyver, empha- 
tically. “ Best for both of you.” Then, seeing 
a look on the governor’s face that warned him 
the interview must close, he hurriedly whispered 
in Griffin’s ear : “ When we shake hands, be 

prepared for some paper.” 

Griffin nodded assent, and extended his hand 
to Heavyside first. 

“ Good-bye, old man,” said the dragoon, as 
they exchanged a hearty grip. “We shall 
soon see the silver lining on the cloud.” 

“ Of course we shall,” added Dyver, dexter- 
ously slipping a small, folded packet into 


2)arreU v. D^ver, loi 

Griffin’s outstretched palm. “ God bless you, 
dear old fellow ! ” 

And so they left him, standing at attention 
out of respect for the governor. 

The missive which had thus changed hands, 
and which Griffin seized an early opportunity of 
e.xamining, consisted of a 50 note and the fol- 
lowing written upon tissue-paper : — 

“ Heavyside and I have decided to make an 
effort to effect your escape. The judge blocks 
all my efforts at the Home Office. We shall 
try to square a couple of warders, and I dare- 
say you will find some use for the accompany- 
ing ^50.— R. D.” 

Morley Griffin .contrived to read this over 
twice, and then, putting the paper into his 
mouth, chewed it to a pulp. The bank-note he 
secreted in one of his boots. 

“ Dear old Bob ! ” he muttered, as he re- 
sumed work. “ He, at least, believes in me, 
and so does Heavyside. I wonder what their 
plan will be ? No doubt I shall learn later on 
from one of the ‘screws,’ as they call the 
warders here. Escape ? No easy matter from 
inside. I had intended waiting till they put 
me in the quarry-gang, but if it can be managed 
sooner, so much the better.” 

Meanwhile, Dyver and Heavyside, having 

thanked Major S for his hospitality and 

courtesy, returned to “ The Spotted Dog,” 


10 ^ 


2)artmoor. 


which they had learned was a favorite evening- 
resort of the gaol officials when off duty. Such 
proved to be the case, for upon descending to 
the bar-parlor after dinner, they found it fairly 
well filled with warders. Now, warders are a 
thirsty race, and by no means averse to conver- 
sation with inquisitive strangers, provided the 
latter do the handsome thing in the matter of 
refreshments. Dyver’s servant, Walters, had, 
moreover, made certain inquiries upon his own 
account, and the final outcome was that the two 
friends and a certain warder, Haythorpe, entered 
upon a lengthy and seemingly very interesting 
conversation, apart from the rest. It was not 
in Dyver’s nature to waste time beating round 
the bush, and, having gauged his man, he 
quickly came to the point. 

“ I would giv’^e ;^5oo to see my friend a free 
man,” he said, coolly. “ Can it be done ? ” 

“ Speak lower, sir,” cautioned the warder. 
“ This is a dangerous matter to talk about at 
Princetown. As to getting a prisoner away, 1 
don’t say as how it ain’t to be done, and I ain’t 
disputing but what your terms is liberal. But 
there’d have to be two, or it might be three, of 
us in the job, and that brings each one’s share 
down considerable. Make it ^750, sir, and 1 
think I can work it.” 

“ Well, /750 be it,” answered Dyver; “but 
understand, my man, that I’ll pay by results. 
I have told you who I am. My friend is a 


Darrell v, D^ver, 


103 


captain in the Dragoon Guards. We both 
guarantee you the sum you name provided you 
fulfil your part of the contract. Meanwhile, 
here are ;,r5o on account.” 

Warder Haythorpe pocketed the notes with a 
grunt of satisfaction. “ It ain’t to be expected, 
nor it ain’t in reason, gentlemen, that you should 
P^yi^ 75 o before the job’s done, and I’m quite 
satisfied as how you’ll keep your promise. 
What’s more, gentlemen, I calls ;^5o uncommon 
handsome as earnest-money, and, you may take 
your ’davit, me and my mates will do our best. 
It will take a fortnight though to fix any sort of 
a plan. And the three of us (now I think of it, 
there must be three in the job) will have to be 
on duty the same niglit.” 

‘‘All right,” assented Dyver. “Let my 
friend, whom you know as Z 754, know of your 
intentions, and write to my London address to 
let me know when the attempt is to be made. 
I shall expect to hear from you within a fort- 
night.” 

“ I’ll write, sir, never fear,” answered Hay- 
thorpe. “ If I may make so bold, gentlemen. 
I’d suggest a cutter moored somewhere, not too 
far, off the coast. Getting out of gaol is one 
thing. Getting clear away is another.” 

“ The fellow is right,” observed Captain 
Heavyside, as the two friends sat in their own 
sitting-room. “ It is easier to effect an escape 
than to avoid recapture. I shall ask Saville to 


t04 


Dartmoor. 


place his 2o-tonner at my disposal for a few 
days when the time comes." 

Now, had these conspiring young gentlemen 
deferred their return to London for twenty- 
four hours, they would have been startled to find 
Hugh Darrell established as a guest at “ The 
Spotted Dog," where he engaged the private sit- 
ting-room they had vacated, announced himself 
to the landlord as Mr. Barrett, of London, and 
gave orders that should a certain Warder 
Jason inquire for him he was at once to be 
shown up. That same evening Warder Jason 
duly called, and was admitted to the presence 
of Mr. Barrett, of London. 

“ Your name is Jason queried the latter, 
casting a keen glance of scrutiny at his visitor, 
a thick-set, surly-looking individual, afflicted 
with an especially ugly squint. 

“ Yes, sir," was the reply. “ Matthew Jason, 
at your sarvice." 

“Well, it is to use your services, for which I 
will pay you handsomely, that I have sought 
you out. I have been given to understand 
that you are willing to obey orders without 
asking questions, provided I make it worth 
your while. Is that so ? ” 

“ The party as told you that, sir, knows Mat 
Jason as well as I knows myself," assented the 
visitor, with a cunning leer. 

“Very well," continued Mr. Barrett, of Lon- 


Barren v. Dgver. 


105 

don; “help yourself to some of that brandy 
and listen to me.” 

“ Thankee, sir,” responded Jason, availing 
himself freely of this invitation, 

“ There is a convict down here whose name 
is Morley Griffin, but whom you perhaps know 
as Z 754 — an extremely tall, powerful man ” 

“ Yes, sir,” put in the warder, “ I knows him, 
though he ain’t come under my special charge 
as yet.” 

‘ Then you must manage to exchange duty 
with some other warder, so that he shall come 
under your special charge,” rejoined Mr. Bar- 
rett. “ Can you do this } ” 

“ Yes, it can be worked,” answered Jason. 
“ He ain’t no friend of yours, sir, I take it, this 
Z 754, and you wants me to make things ’ot 
for him } ” 

“ He is my deadly enemy,” said Mr. Barrett, 
savagely. “ Were he to regain his freedom, 
either upon a ticket-of-leave or by the e.xpiry of 
his sentence, my life would not be worth three 
days’ purchase. Now, I am given to under- 
stand that a prisoner may be goaded into com- 
mitting acts which would not only disqualify 
him for a ticket-of-leave, but might further- 
more result in a prolongation of his original 
term.” 

“That’s quite correct, sir,” assented Jason, 
lowering his voice. “ A ‘ screw ’ (as they calls 
us warders) wot has a ‘ nark ’ on a prisoner 


2)artmoor, 


io6 

can keep him in ’ot water until he grows des- 
perate and does something as’ll fetch him a 
hextra lagging.” 

“ This Morley Griffin is an extremely violent 
man, when provoked,” added Mr. Barrett, 
“ and you should have no. difficulty in goading 
him to desperation. Now, what I propose to 
you is this ; make it your business so to goad 
him, and, for every year that you succeed in 
adding to his sentence, I will pay you ;^ioo, or, 
should he die in gaol, I will give you ;^5oo cash 
down. The person who recommended you to 
me, and whom you know well, holds guaran- 
tees that I will keep my word. In the mean- 
while, I will pay you ^25 every three months 
for your current services. It depends upon 
yourself how soon you earn the larger sum, 
and here is the first quarter’s money in advance. 
You understand me ? ” 

“Yes, sir, I understand right enough,” was 
the reply, as twenty- five sovereigns were 
counted into the outstretched hand. “ Twenty- 
five pound a quarter to go on with. A lump 
sum of ^100 for every year added to 754’s 
lagging. Or ^500 cash down if he dies. As 
you say, sir, I can trust the party as sent you 
down here to see you acts square, ’specially as 
it wouldn’t pay to turn dog in a business of 
this sort— Mr. Hugh Darrell ! ” 

Darrell started. It had formed no part of 
his plans that this scoundrel, whom he was 


2)arrell v. S>^v>er. 


107 


employing, should be aware of his identity ; but 
he quickly recovered himself. ♦ 

“ I see you know my name,” he remarked, 
coolly. ‘ Of course, I took the precaution to 
change it upon a mission of this sort. I think 
nothing more remains to be said, except that 
the sooner you earn your reward the better I 
shall be pleased.” 

“Aye, sir,” retorted Jason, helping himself 
unbidden to some more brandy, in the famil- 
iarity begotten of criminal partnership, “ and 
the ;{^5oo for choice, eh ? ” 

With which parting shot, the warder gulped 
down his dose of the fiery spirit and departed 
to his night-duty in the gaol. 

“ Insolent brute ! ” muttered Darrell, as he 
prepared to depart Londonwards. “ But what 
matters that so that he does my work, and 
does it thoroughly } And, if looks can be 
trusted, he’ll stick at nothing to earn his blood- 
money ! ” 


io8 


2)artmooi* 


CHAPTER X. 

DARTMOOR. 

During the ten months that had elapsed 
since Morley Griffin bade adieu to Bob Dyver 
at the railway-station, he had ample opportu- 
nity to realize the truth of Warder Ricketts’ 
statement that, compared to Pentonville, Dart- 
moor is a veritable hell upon earth. Herded 
with ruffians, whose companionship was contam- 
ination and whose every other word was a 
blasphemy or an obscenity, he shuddered to 
think that, in time, he, too, might lose his own 
self-respect and become even as they were. 
From the first he had constrained himself, reck- 
less though he felt, to adopt a policy of rigid 
obedience to all the rules, hoping thereby to 
disarm suspicion and so secure a favorable 
chance of putting into effect the one plan ever 
uppermost in his mind — escape. 

Some building-work was in progress within 
the gaol, and he, on account of his great 
strength, had been selected to perform some 
of the hardest portions of the labor. This he 
did willingly enough, feeling, indeed, glad of 
an opportunity for bringing his muscles into 


Dartmoor, 


109 


active play. Moreover, there was always the 
hope that, when this work was completed, he 
would be drafted into the quarry-gang, which 
he regarded as an essential preliminary towards 
his freedom. Escape from within the prison 
itself seemed an absolute impossibility. Then 
the unexpected visit of Bob Dyver and Heavy- 
side, together with Bob’s written message, had 
raised new hopes in his breast, and he anxiously 
awaited a further communication from one or 
other of the warders in Dyver’s pay. The ;{^5o- 
note he contrived to secrete in the binding of his 
Bible placed in his cell. Within a week Warder 
Haythorpe found opportunity for a brief con- 
versation. 

“ Your friends outside are coming down hand- 
some,” he said, “ and one of my mates is will- 
ing to stand in with me in the job. He’ll be 
on the wicket one night next week. I shall be 
on duty in your gallery, and shall have a dupli- 
cate key of your cell door made from a cast. 
But the man oh duty in the lower corridor will 
have to be squared too, and I don’t know yet 
who it will be. So I can’t say for certain what 
night it will be. Anyhow, if we can pass you 
through the wicket between us, you’ll find a 
rope hanging at the southern end of the outer 
wall, and, upon the other side, your friend’s 
servant will be waiting for you. After that, 
your friends will look after you and see that 
you get clear away. ” 


no 


2)artmoor. 


“ What of you and your mates ? ” queried 
Griffin, whose good-nature prompted him to 
bestow a thought upon his proposed helpers. 
“ It will go hardly with you if you are found 
guilty of assisting a prisoner to escape.” 

“ That’s true enough,” assented Haythorpe, 
“ but we are paid to run the risk, and must 
trust to luck and hard-swearing to pull us 
through. The chap on the wicket will be found 
apparently stunned and half-choked, and, as 
the chief warder keeps all the cell-door keys, 
there’ll be nothing to show how your door was 
opened. It will most likely be set down to an 
oversight when the chief went his rounds. I 
shall admit having left my post for a few min- 
utes to see the man in the other corridor, but 
that can’t mean much more than a reprimand. 
Indeed, I don’t care if they dismiss me. I’m 
getting sick of this billet,” 

Bold, almost rash, as Haythorpe’s scheme 
appeared to be, it might nevertheless have 
come off successfully had he made no mistake 
about his third confederate, who proved to be 
none other than Matthew Jason. Haythorpe 
knew this officer to be “ upon the cross,” as it 
is termed, that is, as one who was open to bri- 
bery ; but, of course, he knew nothing of the 
compact previously made with Darrell. 

“What’s the job worth asked Jason, 
bluntly, after the first few preliminary hints. 

“ Two hundred and fifty pounds each for the 


Dartmoor, 


III 


three of us,” was the reply, ‘‘ and the money as 
safe as the bank.” 

“How ami to know that?” retorted Jason. 
“You can just tell your people, whoever they 
are, that I for one will have nothing to do with 
this job unless I gets ;^ioo down aforehand ;” 
and from this decision he refused to recede an 
inch. 

Dyver, informed of this hitch, sent the re- 
quired sum, and Jason professed to be content. 
Morley Griffin’s hopes soared high when Hay- 
thorpe told him that the following night had 
been fixed upon for his escape. In the exuber- 
ance of his joy, he told that friendly warder of 
the ^50 concealed in his Bible, and bade him 
secure it for his own use — an injunction which 
Haythorpe lost no time in obeying, with a pro- 
fusion of thanks. 

The next morning, whilst Griffin was at 
work, and counting the hours that had yet to 
elapse ere he should be a free man, the chief 
warder was astounded to find amongst his cor- 
respondence an execrably written letter, which 
ran as follows : — 

“ Sir, take a f rends advice and shift Z y $ 4 . 
to a diffiirent Cell at wonst. Thares a platit 
to get hi7n away wich shiftin him will block it. 
— A Frend." 

For some moments the chief warder stared 


112 


2)artmoor, 


at this startling communication, and then 
laughed incredulously. A plant to free a pris- 
oner from Dartmoor Gaol ! The thing was too 
absurd for serious consideration. Possibly Z 
754 had been trying to tamper with his cell — 
such attempts were not unknown. A careful 
inspection would soon settle that point. And, 
whilst on his morning rounds, the chief warder 
took occasion to examine the cell in question 
minutely ; but not the faintest suspicious mark 
or sign could he discover. Haythorpe, who 
accompanied him, watched this proceeding 
uneasily ; he at once guessed that the chief had 
a suspicion of something amiss, but how much 
did he know or suspect.^ 

“ Have Z 754’s bedding shifted to one of the 
new cells,” said his superior, as though by way 
of afterthought, as he departed. 

“ Very well, sir,” answered Haythorpe, calmly 
enough. But he knew now that, somehow or 
other, some inkling of the prisoner’s design had 
leaked out, and instinctively he fixed upon 
Jason in his own mind as the probable traitor. 
He knew him to be a man of no principle 
whatever. What more likely than that, having 
.secured ^^rooin advance, he had taken measures 
to avoid all further risk by quietly putting the 
chief warder upon his guard, and so making the 
execution of the plan quite impossible ? 

“ Great Scott ! ” muttered Haythorpe, with a 
shudder. “ What a show-up there’d have been 


Dartmoor, 


"3 


had the chief kept his suspicions to himself and 
merely kept careful watch on the cell ! He’d 
have caught me red-handed ! Well, I must let 
the others know the game is up, though I’d 
wager all I’m worth Jason knows it already. 
Poor 754! What an awful sell it will be for 
him! Anyhow, I've done my best, as I shall 
take care to explain to the Hon. Dyver and his 
friend.” 

Jason received Haythorpe’s news with obvi- 
ously affected surprise. “ I expect them two 
gentlemen has been talking too loud,” he re- 
marked, “ and so put the job away. You and 
me’ll have to be extry careful,” he added, “ and 
I daresay as how they’ll stand something for 
the risks we ran. Not that I’m grumbling: 
that hundred about squares my trouble. Pity 
you didn’t look after yourself a bit, too, Jem 
Haythorpe ! ” And Jason squinted at his com- 
panion with fiendish glee. 

Haythorpe was off duty at mid-day, and at 
once betook himself to “ The Spotted Dog ” to 
report the impossibility of putting the plans ar- 
ranged upon into execution. Both Dyver and 
Heavyside were furious. 

“ One of you three warders must have be- 
trayed the scheme I ” cried Dyver. “ The fel- 
low, most likely, who insisted upon the ^100 in 
advance. Fool that I was to let him have it ! I 
might have guessed he’d prefer a safe ;Jioo to 
a risky £ 2 ^ 0 .” 


14 


Dartmoor. 


Haythorpe admitted that his own suspicions 
ran in the same direction. Still, as he pointed 
out, it was evident that the authorities had 
received nothing but a vague hint to keep a 
watchful eye upon Z 754, and had no suspicion 
of the real nature of the plot. Who could say 
that, later on, the scheme might not be success- 
fully carried out ? Meanwhile he pledged him- 
self to do all that he could to make their friend’s 
position . more comfortable. He undertook, 
moreover, to let them know at once should a 
favorable opportunity present itself. And, in 
the end, deriving what little comfort they could 
from these assurances, Dyver and Heavyside 
returned dejected to London to await the issue 
of events. 

“ This is the second time wb’ve missed fire,” 
growled the sturdy groom, Walters. “ Perhaps 
next time the job will come off ! ” 

Morley Griffin had no inkling of the disas- 
trous news in store for him until he learned at 
bed-time that he was no longer to occupy his 
former cell. 

“Keep yourself cool,” said Haythorpe, in 
low, guarded tones, as he called him up to tell 
him of his change of quarters. “The chief 
suspects something, and has ordered me to 
shift your bedding to one of the new cells. 
That, of course, upsets all our plans for the 
present.” 

Griffin ground his teeth to keep back the ex- 


Dartmoor, 


”5 


clamation of bitter disappointment that rose to 
his lips. 

“ One of your mates must have turned traitor, 
then,” he whispered, fiercely. 

“Yes,” assented Haythorpe. “I believe 
that’s what happened. He got nervous about 
the risks of detection, as the time drew near, 
and managed to give the chief a hint to put 
you in a different cell, though he was careful 
not to give any details, for his own sake. So 
there’s just a vague suspicion against you and 
no more. That will blow over by-and-by, if 
you keep quiet, and, as I told your friends out- 
side to-day, a better chance may present itself. 
They were awful disappointed when I told ’em 
what had happened, and went back to London 
quite cut-up like. Now, be careful of Jason, 
who has charge of the new cells. He’s a bad 
lot ; and I fancy, from odd remarks he has let 
fall, that he has a ‘ down ’ on you.” 

“ Why ? ” asked Griffin. “ He scarcely 
knows me by sight.” 

“ Can’t say,” was the reply. “ I fancy you 
have some enemy outside. Do you under- 
stand ? Anyhow, don’t give Jason a chance to 
report you.” 

Griffin took the hint, and was on his guard 
against his new overseer. Yet, within three 
days, the latter discovered a piece of tobacco in 
No. 754’s bedding, and reported him for being 
in possession of the contraband weed. 


ii6 


2)artmoor» 


When brought to answer the charge, Grififin 
stoutly denied it, asserting (with perfect truth) 
that he did not use tobacco, and that the in- 
criminating morsel, if found in his bedding at 
all, must have been placed there by someone 
else. 

This defence was summarily rejected by the 
governor, who sentenced the prisoner to three 
days’ solitary confinement, upon bread and 
water, and to the loss of certain good-conduct 
marks, which would have the effect of adding 
several weeks to his sentence. This punish- 
ment Griffin endured without any comment. 

A week later Jason asked him some trivial 
question in his cell, by way of preliminary, and 
then, producing a newspaper, showed him a 
marked paragraph. It was an announcement 
of the marriage of Ethel Conyers to Hugh 
Darrell. 

Morley Griffin staggered as though struck by 
a blow. Then he recovered himself. “Why 
do you show me this ? ” he asked, hoarsely. 

“ Because I happen to know Mr. Darrell,” 
was the reply, “ and have promised him to keep 
an eye on you. I rather fancy he wants you 
to stay here, eh ? ” 

Morley gave a bitter laugh. “ Does that 
mean that he has bribed you to keep me 
here ? ” he inquired fiercely. 

“ Take it that way, if you like,” replied Jason. 
“ It’s worth my while, anyhow, to make things 


Dartmoor. 


17 


hot here for you, unless you make it still better 
worth my while to leave you alone.” 

“You scoundrel!” retorted Morley, seizing 
his tormentor by the throat. “ So sure as you 
again bring any of your trumped-up charges 
against me, I’ll strangle you ! ” And, with a 
jerk, he sent the warder reeling into the corri- 
dor. 

That same evening he was charged with us- 
ing insulting and threatening language, and in 
defence he described exactly what had taken 
place. Of course, Jason gave an entirely differ- 
ent version, and equally, of course, his version 
was accepted. Sentence : Three days’ more 
solitary confinement in the dark cells, with a 
further loss of good marks. 

It is not too much to say that this second 
infliction of undeserved punishment, added to 
the knowledge that Hugh Darrell was plainly 
seeking to kill him by inches, or to incite him 
to the commission of some offence which would 
postpone his release indefinitely, converted 
Morley Griffin, for the time at least, into a 
thoroughly reckless, desperate man. His 
thoughts became blacker than the darkness 
which surrounded him. He pictured himself 
as one marked out to be the butt of unmerited 
human vengeance ; and, in his despair, he vowed 
that he too would be avenged if his life paid the 
penalty. 

Truly his case was a hard one. For the 


Dartmoor. 


1 18 

mere fact of his having dared to love a girl 
sought by an unscrupulous foe, he had been 
betrayed into penal servitude, condemned to 
pass many of the best years of his life in the 
most loathsome and degrading of all forms of 
slavery. The girl whom he had loved had at 
last thrown herself jnto the arms of his be- 
trayer, who was now plotting his destruction 
by bribing one of his gaolers to goad him to 
madness, by having him continually punished 
for offences which he had not committed. This 
man, Jason, had threatened to continue his per- 
secution, and his position as warder gave him 
every facility for doing so. His next move 
would doubtless be to have him flogged ; it was 
a wonder he had not already accused him of 
assaulting him in the cell. Doubtless he was 
proceeding by degrees, in hopes of bringing 
him round to his terms; perhaps he thought 
that the dark cells would suffice. What if he 
consented to these terms, and, through Bob 
Dyvers’s instrumentality, outbid Hugh Darrell ? 
With a bitter oath, Morley Griffin thrust this 
idea from his mind ; and then he deliberately 
weighed the measure of retaliation which he 
would inflict upon his dastardly persecutor. 
He had ample time for reflection. 

If he submitted in silence and unresistingly 
to the endless round of punishments in store 
for him, his health, and perhaps also his reason, 
would give way; and this was clearly Hugh 


H)artmoor. 


119 


Darrell’s object in bribing Jason to persecute 
him. Passive endurance was, therefore, out of 
the question. 

If he assaulted him, say in the presence of 
witnesses, he would be flogged and subjected 
to further punishment in the dark cells. That 
would merely be playing into Jason’s hands. 

If he killed him (and Griffin almost convinced 
himself that the man deserved to be killed like 
a venomous reptile), and then he would be 
hanged himself, and his hopes of again meeting 
Hugh Darrell would, of course, be gone for 
ever. 

There remained the alternative of inflicting 
upon him injuries which should incapacitate him 
for services as a warder. This would mean an 
increment of several years to his sentence, in 
addition to a flogging. But, as he was firmly 
resolved to effect his escape long before his 
present time expired, and infinitely preferred 
being flogged to being starved and harassed to 
death, this was the course he finally decided to 
follow. 

Then his thoughts centred upon Ethel Con- 
yers, and, in the bitterness of his heart, he 
cursed her for a false jade. This was not alto- 
gether just. The girl was neither better nor 
worse than hundreds of the other butterflies of 
society that are on view and on sale in the mar- 
riage-market every London season. But Mor- 
ley Griffin, as her accepted lover, was naturally 


120 


Dartmoor, 


disposed to take a very black view indeed of 
her ready transference of her affections to his 
deadly enemy. He hugged himself with the 
thought that when he settled scores with Hugh 
Darrell, she, too, should share in the atonement. 
And then, with a savage sneer against her and 
her sex, he banished her from his thoughts. 

When Morley’s three days were up, and he 
once more emerged into the light of day, he re- 
mained true to his set resolve, and merely 
awaited an opportunity of carrying it into effect. 
This did not present itself for Biore than a 
week. Jason, apparently with the design of 
allowing an interval for reflection between his 
attacks, forbode to molest him during that 
period. Then he once more presented himself 
in his victim’s cell, keeping, however, a watch- 
ful eye on the latter’s movements. 

“ Well ! ” he said ; “ have you thought that 
matter out ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Morley, “ I have.” 

“ And which is it to be — peace or war ? ” in- 
quired his janitor 

“War!” hissed Morley, seizing the intruder, 
with a swift grip, by the throat, and dragging 
him into the cell . . . 

Five minutes later a huddled-up heap of hu- 
manity lay moaning and groaning in the corri- 
dor, and Morley Griffin, calling upon another 
warder, gave himself, so to speak, into custody 
as the aggressor upon Warder Jason. He had 


Dartmoor. 


I2t 


amply fulfilled his threat. In addition to being 
terribly pummelled, Jason had sustained a com- 
pound fracture of the left leg, which would 
probably incapacitate him from further active 
service. The injured man was at once carried 
off to the infirmary, and Morley was as 
promptly brought before the governor. 

Now, a great piece of good fortune had be- 
fallen Alorley ; for during the brief scuffle (such 
a scuffle as one may see when a bull terrier is 
worrying a rat) a letter had fallen from Jason’s 
pocket, the handwriting of which he had at 
once recognized as Hugh Darrell’s. He had 
read it, and it contained ample proofs of the 
understanding that existed between the writer 
and Jason. Consequently, when Morley had 
confessed to the assault, and had stated his 
reasons for committing it, the production of 
this letter was very strong confirmatory evi- 
dence. 

“ I have made a note of your statement, 
prisoner,” said the governor, “ and I shall re- 
tain the letter. The case is too serious for me 
to adjudicate upon. You will, in due course, 
be tried by one of the directors.” 

In the result, the letter saved Morley from the 
full measure of the exemplary punishment 
which would otherwise most certainly have been 
meted out to him. Nothing, his judge decided, 
could justify an attack by a prisoner upon a 
warder ; but, in view of the extreme provoca- 


122 ©artmoor. 

tion received, a light sentence only would be in- 
dicted, and without the customary flogging. 
This “ light ” sentence resolved itself into the 
total loss of the remission upon his original 
sentence, to which he might otherwise become 
entitled, and to three successive incarcerations 
of three days each, in the dark cells, at intervals 
of a month. 

“ And this you call justice ! ” exclaimed Mor- 
ley, bitterly, when the decision was pronounced. 
Then he broke out into a passionate denuncia- 
tion of the wrongs which had been inflicted 
upon him, such as that Director of Her Maj- 
esty’s Gaols, had never listened to before. 
And when, at length, a strong posse of war- 
ders succeeded in removing him, his voice still 
rang out loudly and furiously through the pas- 
sages that led to the punishment cells. 

It may here be mentioned that Warder Jason 
never again appeared in uniform ; though, 
whether he was dismissed or allowed to retire, 
this true chronicle recordeth not. 

And thus it came about that at the end of a 
year from his arrival. Convict No. 754 knew 
Dartmoor to be in very sooth a hell upon earth, 
and was himself very generally regarded by 
those in authority as the most dangerous devil 
in it. 

The rough brutes by whom he was sur- 
rounded held him in very considerable dread, 
for he was prompt to resent the smallest ap- 


©artmoor* 


123 


proach to a liberty with a blow, and none cared 
for a second. He had pounded one ruffian to 
a jelly for humorously remarking that “ he 
looked as though some other bloke had spliced 
on to his best girl.” 

Upon another occasion, he had attacked and 
badly mauled three “ lifers ” for bullying a lad, 
who appealed to him for protection. Brute 
force is the one quality these animals respect, 
and No. 754, or “ Gentleman Jack,” as he was 
generally termed, was notoriously the strongest 
man and the most desperate fighter of them all. 
One other, indeed, was held to run him pretty 
close, at least in sheer strength. This was No. 
916, commonly called “ The Wolf,” a hugh Cor- 
nishman, of whom it was said that he could 
carry more hundred-weights upon his back 
than any man in England. Yet, strange to say, 
although constantly thrown together, so far 
from there being any rivalry between the two 
giants, they seemed to be on fairly good terms, 
especially after a preliminary battle, in which 
“ Gentleman Jack ” had conclusively demon- 
strated his superiority, with the fists at any 
rate. Certain it is that they never missed an 
opportunity of talking together, whether openly, 
or in that lip language intelligible only to con- 
victs. 

“The Wolf” was a “lifer,” reprieved from 
the gallows. As utterly repulsive a human 
monster as ever the laws of God or man allowed 


124 S)artmoor. 

to live, and with a life-record of such crimes as 
would have caused many of the least scrupu- 
lous members of the chain-gang to shudder, 
had they but known of them. One such epi- 
sode, which “ The Wolf ” was fond of narrating, 
bears upon this narrative. 

He had at one time been a sailor, and was 
ship-wrecked in the Indian Ocean. He and a 
number of the crew found temporary safety in 
one of the ship’s boats, and very badly provided 
with provisions, drifted about in hopes of being 
seen and rescued by some passing vessel. Soon 
famine stared them in the face, and the sailor’s 
last, desperate resource— that of drawing lots 
for one victim to become food for the rest — 
was resorted to. 

“ Now, ye see, mates,” explained “ The Wolf,” 
“ as how I never could abide wi’ an empty 
stummick. When I be proper hungry, I’se got 
to eat summat. I’d liever cut off and eat my 
own arm nor go without. Wal, t’ way we 
drawed wur by numbers — lowest t’ die. We’d 
d rawed twice, and t’ third time I tell ’ee, I had 
a near squeak for ’t. I drawed the durned 
number meself ! Tell ’ee, mates, at first I felt 
like making a fight for ’t. But they was seven 
against me, and besides I was hungry as they 
wur, or WLissur mebbe, and I couldn’t bear the 
idea of dyin’ with an empty stummick. So, 
makin’ b’lieve I was sayin a prayer same as t’ 
other two coves had done, I gets my grip upon 


Dartmoor* 


125 


t gullet of t’ bosun, as was a-lyin’ down for’ard 
very weak like. In coorse I soon chokes him, 
and then I slews round, and sez I : ‘ ’Tain’t no 
manner of use a-killin of me just yit. Here’s 
t’ bosun as has just pegged out ! ’ Wal, we 
eats him, and next day we sights a Swedish 
barque, and gets picked up. Folks does say 
as how man’s flesh drives them as eats it crazy- 
like. That’s all a bloomin’ yarn. It’s a sight 
better nor an empty stummick, any road ! ” 

This was the monster whom Morley Griffin 
cultivated as an acquaintance ; and no further 
illustration need be given of the frame of mind 
to which his black despair had driven him. 
But, of course, he had a motive in so doing. 
He and “ The Wolf ” were destined shortly for 
work with the chain-gang in the quarries ; and 
for specially heavy labor in cramped spaces, they 
would most probably, on account of their 
gigantic strength, be chained together. It 
would, in this event, be necessary to secure 
“ The Wolf's ” co-operation in a dash for free- 
dom. Moreover, he knew every inch of the 
moor, which was a very important consideration. 
On his side, “The Wolf ” was perfectly willing 
to make the attempt, and their frequent conver- 
sations all had reference to the details of their 
plan. 

Luck favored them. As he had foreseen, an 
overseer told Morley Griffin one evening that 
he would next day be yoked with “ The Wolf,” 


126 


2)artmoor. 


for ledge-work in a distant quarry; and the 
young giant told himself that, with anything 
like a reasonable opportunity, this should be his 
last night in a Dartmoor cell. 


Q:be jEecape* 


127 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE ESCAPE. 

It was a typical October morning, chilly, 
damp, and grey, as the quarry gang, under 
strong escort, was mustered and dispatched to 
the scene of labor, distant some two miles from 
the prison. In all, the gang numbered some 
thirty men, of whom more than one-half were 
ironed in couples by the ankles. With them 
went two overseers to direct operations, and 
eight warders, armed with rifles, to guard 
against all possibility of outbreak or attempt at 
escape. Prominent amongst the prisoners 
towered the figures of Morley Griffin and “ The 
Wolf ” ; and, from the sullen fierceness of the 
latter’s looks, as his eyes wandered from the 
escort to his companion’s face, it was evident 
that something untoward had happened. 

“ Eight of ’em,” he whispered, hoarsely. 
“ They didn’t use to send more nor four or 
five at most. And these irons wot they’ve guv 
us is extry thick ’uns. ’Tain’t no go. Master.” 
For some reason or other (possibly begotten of 
instinctive respect), he always addressed Morley 
as “ Master.” 


128 


2)artmoor, 


“Hold your confounded tongue I ” was tlie 
reply, in the same growling undertone. “ Can’t 
you see they’re watching us ? How often do 
you want to be told that we must wait for 
our chance ? It may be to-day or it may be 
next month, but sooner or later it 7nus^ come ! ” 

The Cornishman gave a grunt of sulky acqui- 
escence and, artfully conveying a piece of 
tobacco to his mouth, plodded along in silence. 
It was his great boast that he was never with- 
out “ snout ” (which is thieves’ argot for the 
prohibited luxury). 

Morley was himself bitterly disappointed to 
see the extra precautions that had been taken, 
more especially as it speedily became apparent 
that three of the warders had been specially 
detailed off to watch him and “ The Wolf.” 
The authorities clearly suspected his design, 
and, whilst their official dignity debarred them 
from openly admitting the possibility of its 
accomplishment by keeping him within the 
prison walls, they had taken effective measures 
to block it. For two heavily ironed men to 
escape from the custody of eight well-armed 
warders was clearly beyond the range of prob- 
abilities. 

The chapter of accidents, however, may upset 
the most careful calculations. At about three 
o’clock, one of the sudden, heavy mists for 
which Dartmoor is notorious arose ; and, as is 
invariably done in such a case, the senior 


^bc iSeca^e, 


129 


warder immediately ordered the gang to 
“ knock off ” work, which the men did willingly 
enough. 

“Fall in there!- Come, hurry up!” came 
the command, as the prisoners slouched 
through the fast deepening mist into double file. 
“ Forward ! Quick March ! ” And the column 
started prison wards to the accompaniment of 
the clanking irons. 

Thicker and thicker grew the mist, until it 
became difficult for those in the rearmost ranks 
to make out the head of the column. Morley 
Griffin’s heart beat fast. Such an opportunity 
might not occur again. 

“ Now for it ! ” he bawled into the ear of his 
companion, and, swerving suddenly to one side, 
the two desperadoes hobbled as quickly as they 
could into the thickening fog. Disregarding 
the escort’s challenge to halt, they threw them- 
selves prone to earth, just in time to allow a 
volley of bullets to whistle over their heads. 
Then they crawled upon their hands and knees 
for a short distance and, springing to their feet, 
hastened back towards the quarry which they 
had just left. They could now see nothing of 
the column, and, of course, the warders could 
see nothing of them, although from the contin- 
uous discharge of the rifles, it was evident that 
they stood in considerable danger from chance 
shots. It probably did not occur to the war- 
ders that they would take the direction of the 


no 


Dartmoor. 


quarry ; and yet Morley saw at once that their 
first effort must be to break their fetters by 
means of one of the sledge-hammers left there. 
This idea he hurriedly communicated to The 
Wolf,” whose knowledge of the ground now 
stood them in good stead. 

“ All right, Master,” he answered. “ I could 
find the tools blindfold. Come along ! ” 

In a few minutes they reached the spot 
where the sledges were lying. Bidding his 
companion to lie prone and to hold the head of 
a sledge as an anvil beneath the bars of the 
chain, Morley brought down a second sledge 
with the full force of his mighty right arm. It 
was impossible to wield the weapon with both 
hands, from the position of the chain : and no 
one, save a giant, could have swung the pon- 
derous hammer in one hand. The jar upon 
their limbs was agonizing, and the risk of 
breaking the bones of the leg considerable ; but 
the pain and the risk had to be encountered. 
It took nearly a dozen blows before the bar 
finally snapped and they were freed from one 
another, although, of course, each still retained 
an iron anklet and a portion of the broken 
chain. 

At this moment the loud boom of a cannon 
proclaimed that the prison officials understood 
what had occurred, and thus announced to the 
many hundreds of free laborers resident upon 
the moor that a prisoner or prisoners had es- 


Zbc lEscape. 131 

caped, and that there was blood-money to be 
earned. 

“ Now, then ! " cried Morley Griffin. “ You 
know the way. Steer straight for some outly- 
ing hamlet where there’s a forge. We must 
get these irons off, first thing. After that, we 
must trust to chance to get hold of some clothes, 
and then we’ll have a show of getting clear 
away.” 

“ Right y’ are. Master ! ” replied “ The 
Wolf.” “ Keep ye close on my heels ! ” 

And away they started through the dense fog 
at as near an approach to a run as their fetters 
would permit. 

Through the grey mist they ran, or tried to 
run, for fully a mile, Morley following his com- 
panion’s lead blindly ; and, indeed, “ The Wolf ” 
seemed to have no hesitation about his course. 
Suddenly he heard a warning cry, felt himself 
tripping over a prostrate body, and fell — fell — 
fell into what seemed to be a bottomless abyss ! 

“ Gone, by G ! ” muttered “ The Wolf,” 

craning his neck over a precipitous edge. “ I’d 
have sworn t’ Black Gap wur a good furlong t’ 
other gait ! . . . He’s a stiff ’un by now, is the 
Master, and ’tain’t no matter of use me waitin’ 
here ! ” So saying, “ The Wolf ” resumed his 
jog-trog in an easterly direction, intent doubt- 
less upon plundering a forge or a farm-house, 
or both. 

Had Morley Griffin fallen as his companion 


132 


2)artmoor* 


supposed, certain death awaited him. The 
Black Gap is nothing else than a yawning 
chasm, giving upon a disused quarry, and with 
an almost sheer descent of nearly two hundred 
feet. As it happened, however, he chanced to 
fall at almost the only spot where the descent 
is not quite sheer, a projecting slope, covered 
with stunted timber and undergrowth, arresting 
his downward course some forty feet below the 
surface. He felt the fearful crash, which 
seemed to shatter every bone in his body, was 
dimly conscious of rolling over and of instinc- 
tively clutching at the tangled undergrowth, 
and then he remembered no more. 

When he recovered consciousness, the moon 
was shining fitfully through dense masses of 
flying scud, and he was able to make out his 
position. He had rolled to within a yard of the 
edge of the slope, where the trunk and protrud- 
ing roots of a dwarf ash had arrested his 
downward progress. Forty feet above was the 
edge from which he had fallen^ more than a 
hundred feet below was a small, darkly-gleaming 
surface, which he knew to be water, surrounded 
by broken masses of rock. He was in great 
pain ; his body seemed to be one large bruise ; 
and he was deadly cold. His first impulse was 
to ascertain how many of his bones had 
escaped fracture. To his intense relief, his 
limbs were all sound, though his right ankle 
was badly sprained and two of his smaller ribs 


Zbc jSacape. 


133 


appeared to be broken. His head, face, and 
hands, too, had been cut and skinned in places ; 
but beyond these minor injuries and a general 
sensation of agonizing soreness, he was prac- 
tically unhurt. 

Then arose the momentous question, how 
could he extricate himself from his critical 
position.^ To attempt to ascend was clearly 
hopeless ; the ledge upon which he lay was an 
isolated projection. Below were the rocks and 
the water. Craning his neck over the edge, he 
dropped a stone and counted. It took a little 
over two seconds to strike the water, which he 
therefore judged must be about one hundred 
and twenty feet from where he lay. Doubtless 
there existed some means of exit from the 
bottom of the quarry, could he but reach it. 
Yet to dive from such a fearful height, into a 
small pool of possibly shallow water, looked 
like deliberate suicide. 

Morley reflected. If he waited, no doubt a 
search-party would discover him and seek to 
rescue him by means of ropes. If “ The Wolf ” 
were re-captured (as, alone, he most likely 
would be) he would certainly tell of his com- 
panion’s fate. At any moment a search-party 
might appear upon the scene, and this to him 
meant death ; for he had sworn to himself that 
he would never again enter the prison alive. 
The dive might mean death also ; it certainly 
would, if the water were shallow or if he missed 


•34 


5)artmoor. 


it and struck upon a rock. But it offered at 
least a chance of life, and this chance he deter- 
mined to take. Despite his efforts to be quite 
steady, his breath came hard and quick through 
his set teeth as he stood upon the brink nerving- 
himself for the plunge. Then he inflated his 
lungs to their fullest, poised himself for a 
second, his hands glued to his thighs, and 
sprang feet foremost into the abyss ! 

The water was deep, and, assisted by the 
weight of his leg-irons, he struck it vertically as 
a descending arrow. Presently he rose to the 
surface and somewhat feebly (for he was half 
dazed, and his fetters hampered him greatly) 
swam to a spot where a rift in the encircling- 
wall of rock seemed to indicate an exit of some 
sort. 

For several minutes after dragging himself 
from the water he lay unable to move, panting, 
and half frozen. But he by-and-by recovered 
himself and, having squeezed out his wet 
clothes, followed the opening which he had 
discovered. It gave upon a pathway, steep and 
very uneven, which had, at some period or other, 
been used in the transport of the quarry- stone. 
A quarter of an hour later he stood, beneath 
the cloud-swept sky, upon the Moor. A keen 
wind seemed to drive the moisture of his gar- 
ments into his very bones, and his teeth rattled 
like castanets. His sprained ankle caused him 
acute suffering at every step, whilst the weight 


Zbc :60cape. 


35 


of the irons which encircled his other leg made 
it yet more difficult for him to limp along. 
Nevertheless, the thought of his last desperate 
feat nerved him for further effort, and he reso- 
lutely set his face southward, with but one im^ 
mediate object in view — to gain a human habi- 
tation of some sort where, by entreaties or by 
force, he might procure a change of raiment, 
food, and, above all, a file. 

How interminable seemed that dreary expanse 
of Moor ! In the distance he could discern a 
belt of timber, towards which he was making 
his way ; but this was still several miles off and, 
in his crippled condition, each step that he took 
was martyrdom. Several times he nearly de- 
cided to throw himself prone amongst the 
bracken and await the death which he had 
sworn should precede recapture ; but his 
dauntless courage still kept him moving. 
After many hours of torture, he reached a copse 
and lost no time in breaking off a stout sapling 
to serve as a staff. The moon by this time 
was waning, and he struggled forward lest 
darkness should overtake him in the wood. 
Then, unless his eyes had deceived him, he saw 
a faint light which, as he advanced towards it, 
disappeared, only to reappear a minute later. 
With desperate eagerness he staggered on- 
wards until he stood within a few yards of 
where it had last been visible. 

Suddenly, and as though arising from the 


2)artmoor, 


136 

earth, a man confronted him. “ Who are 
you ? ” he inquired, gruffly, “ and what are you 
doing here ? ” 

“ I saw a light and followed it,” answered 
Morley, simply. “ I am half dead with wet, 
cold, and hunger.” 

“ Good passports, whoever you are, to fire 
and- food,” said the stranger. “Come; follow 
me. Lame, eh ? ” 

“Yes,” assented the fugitive, limping after 
his new guide. Presently they reached a cot- 
tage, half hidden in the dense timber growth. 

The stranger paused. “ Tramp he 
asked, briefly. 

“ No,” was the reply. “ I have irons on my 
leg and the Government brand on my clothes. 
I escaped last evening, or this evening — I know 
not which — from the chain-gang.” 

The stranger gave a long, soft whistle. “ An 
escaped convict ! ” he exclaimed. “ Well, 
that’s no reason why you should perish of cold 
and hunger ; but it’s a very good reason for 
cutting short your stay here. The warders 
will overhaul Dene Hollow to a certainty at 
daybreak. However, come inside, and wel- 
come ! ” 

For the first time since his arrival at Dart- 
moor, Morley Griffin felt his heart soften 
towards his fellow-man. What Good Samari- 
tan could this be who, knowing what he was, 
thus offered him food and warmth ? Together 


Zbc JEecape. 


137 


they entered a large, low-roofed kitchen, lighted 
only by a blazing log upon the hearth. A very 
old woman was seated at one side, crooning to 
herself ; whilst a young girl was preparing the 
table for supper. An old-fashioned clock ticked 
solemnly in a corner, and indicated five minutes 
to eleven as the hour. The bright glow of the 
hre was reflected from burnished cooking uten- 
sils, and lit up the huge dresser with its rows 
of crockery ware. Everything around spelt 
comfort in unmistakable characters. 

Involuntarily, Morley slunk into the corner 
nearest the door, which was also the darkest, 
at the same time glancing hurriedly at his con- 
ductor. A tall, thick-set man about fifty years 
of age, dressed in a rough tweed suit, indicative 
of no particular calling, but distinctly not of 
bucolic cut. His accent, too, had struck Mor- 
ley as that of an educated man ; indeed, he had 
half expected to see him in clerical garb. 

“ Myra,” said his host, " I have brought 
with me a guest, and a hungry one. See that 
supper does not run short, child.” 

Myra glanced timidly at the stranger and, 
even in the dim light of the corner, could not 
fail to recognize the hideous convict garb, 
familiar to all residents around Dartmoor. 
Yet, beyond a slight start, she betrayed no sur- 
prise, and proceeded to make sundry additions 
to the meal in the quietest manner possible. 

Her father surveyed his guest attentively. 


2)artmoor, 


138 

and then, apparently divining the cause of his 
embarrassment, beckoned to him to follow, and 
led him into a well-furnished bedroom where, 
also, a good fire was burning. 

“ Rightly or wrongly,” he remarked, “ I’ve 
taken it into my head that there is as much 
good as bad in you. Anyhow, I’m going to 
give you a better chance of escape than you 
otherwise would have. Peel off those tell-tale 
wet clothes, rub yourself dry before the fire, 
and put on what I’m going to hunt you up.” 

In a few minutes he produced from a ward- 
robe an old but warm suit of clothes and some 
under-wear. 

“ Whilst you’re changing,” he added, “ I’ll 
fetch a couple of tools to knock off the irons. 
There ! Never mind thanks. You look them 
quite enough for me.” 

Morley was still rough-towelling his muscular 
shoulders and chest when his host returned 
with a hammer, a file, and a steel punch, with 
which he at once attacked the fetters. 

“ Ever been in the show business ? ” he in- 
quired, glancing at the young giant’s swelling 
biceps. “ One seldom sees muscles like yours 
except amongst professionals.” 

“ No,” answered Morley, ‘‘but I used to be 
considered as strong as most of them.” 

“So I should imagine,” rejoined the other, 
filing away at the head of the rivet. “ I got 
amongst them for once, and used to show as 


Zbc lEscape. 


139 


the Fire King. There ! no.w stand steady a 
moment ! ” And, with a few blows upon the 
punch, the irons fell upon the floor. “ What’s 
up with your other ankle ? Looks swollen. 
Sprain, eh ? By George, yes ! and a bad one 
too. You won’t be fit to walk for a week at 
least.” 

“ Then I must hop,” said Morley, “ for, with 
the splendid chance your clothes give me of 
escape, I shall get away as far and as fast as I 
can, if I have to crawl on all fours.” 

“ Humph ! ” was his host’s comment. “ Well, 
at all events, come and eat ..your supper. I 
must say the clothes (although they are a tight 
fit) have effected a great improvement in your 
appearance.” 

The two men sat down to a substantial meal, 
Myra waiting upon them. The old woman (a 
worn-out circus rider, as Morley learned) had 
retired. It is wonderful what an effect a good 
supper, washed down by old ale, can produce 
upon a healthy young man situated as he was. 
It was the first pleasant hour he had passed 
since his arrest, and lost nothing by contrast 
with his late terrible experiences. With his 
odious convict’s dress he seemed to have thrown 
off the moroseness into which he had habitually 
sunk, and to resume much of his former self. 

He saw plainly that his host was devoured by 
curiosity (or, it might be, by a worthier motive) 
to learn his story ; and so, merely suppressing 


140 


2)artmoor, 


names, he briefly narrated it. He probably 
told it well, and with a ring of truth that forced 
conviction upon his hearers, for they listened 
with breathless attention. Late as was the 
hour, her father made no objection to Myra’s 
sitting up to hear it to the end, which she did — 
hanging upon Morley’s words, as though spell- 
bound. When he came to describe his fall and 
subsequent dive at the Black Gap, his host 
sprang to his feet in irrepressible excitement. 

“ By Heaven ! ” he cried. “ A guilty man, 
who would risk that for freedom, deserves it ! 
But a man, a gentleman, betrayed into servitude 

See here, sir ! I had intended to bid you 

God-speed this very night, so soon as your 
hunger was appeased. And, were your ankle 
sound, I would still say go — for your own sake. 
But, as it is, we must make shift to hide you 
until you are able to walk. With the hue and 
cry that will be raised after you and the other 
prisoner, it would be madness to dream of con- 
cealing you here. Fortunately, however, I 
have a retreat where you will be safe from all 
pursuit, and, though it’s a rough sort of place, 
the sooner you gain it the better. It is impossi- 
ble to say at what hour a search-party may not 
arrive to scour the neighborhood. Myra, child, 
put up some food in a basket, and fetch some 
thick blankets,” 

The girl eagerly obeyed, whilst her father 
gave a great-coat and a warm cap to his guest. 


^Tbe Escape. 


141 

together with a stout stick to assist him in 
walking. Then throwing the blankets across 
Morley’s shoulders and bidding him take his 
arm, they sallied forth into the night, Myra fol- 
lowing with the basket. 


142 


2)artmoor. 


CHAPTER XII. 

DENE HOLLOW. 

Despite the assistance of his host’s support- 
ing arm and of his stick, it was with the utmost 
.difficulty and in very acute pain that Morley 
managed to limp along. At a distance of 
about a quarter of a mile from the cottage, the 
sound of falling water became audible, and, bid- 
ding Morley await their return, father and 
daughter cautiously groped their way in ad- 
vance. Presently the former came back. 

“Give me the blankets,” he said. “You’ll 
have to crawl after me as best as you can for 
about twenty yards. I’ll show a light when we 
come to a man-hole, where there’s a ladder by 
which we’ll have to descend. ” 

Obeying these instructions, Morley presently 
found himself in a fair-sized grotto or cave, 
some thirty feet below the surface. His guide 
at once lit a large suspended lamp, by the light 
of which he made out what appeared to be a 
furnace surmounted by a boiler, from which 
ran a number of spiral-shaped tubes, all termi- 
nating in a large earthenware jar. He scarcely 
needed to be told that this was a still, and that his 


Dene IboUow. 


143 


benefactor was simply a manufacturer of con- 
traband spirits. A second smaller cave was 
roughly fitted up as a sort of sitting-room, with 
cooking appliances, a camp-bedstead, a table, 
some chairs, and a few books upon a hang- 
ing-shelf. Myra, who had of course preceded 
them, was busy arranging the contents of the 
basket in a small cupboard. 

“ You can guess the nature of my business, I 
suppose,” remarked his host. “ My name is 
Walter Gradwell, and I am the nearest ap- 
proach to the old-fashioned smuggler possible, 
1 imagine, nowadays. I do as much or as little 
trade as I choose. I can always find a market 
for my stuff, and, as there are not half-a-dozen 
men in the country who know what my occupa- 
tion is, and as they are all in the same swim, I 
run but little risk. No one not in the secret 
could possibly discover the entrance to this 
place. Perhaps you’ll see me at work here to- 
morrow, unless I find too many, on the look- 
out for you, to leave home safely. Anyhow, 
I’ll come as soon as possible. Meanwhile, 
you’ll find plenty to eat and drink here, and 
there are a few standard books to help you kill 
the time. So make yourself as snug as you 
can, and make your mind easy as regards any 
risk of recapture whilst you are here. Come 
along, Myra. Good-bye for the present.” 

And with a hearty handshake, supplemented 
by a pretty little curtsy and a half-timid “ Good- 


144 


2)artmoor. 


night ” from Myra, Walter Gradwell and his 
daughter ascended the ladder and left their 
guest to his own reflections, followed by the 
latter’s heartfelt protestations of his gratitude. 

Left to himself, Morley sat down for a few 
minutes to think over the marvellous good 
fortune that had befallen him. A few short 
hours ago he was a desperate and despairing 
man in the very last depths of wretchedness, 
physical and mental. Now he was assured of 
food and shelter, he was comfortably clad, and 
he was apparently safe from his pursuers. 
Perhaps he might be allowed to stay on 
until pursuit should have died out, in the belief 
that he had perished upon the moor or had 
escaped to the coast. He found some rather 
fiery spirits in the cupboard, together with a 
pipe and tobacco. With a portion of the spirits 
he prepared a lotion for his sprained ankle ; and 
then, mixing himself a weak glass of grog, he 
lay down and smoked and thought. 

One by one the events of the bitter Past rose 
before him, and his face hardened into a 
terrible expression as he repeated the name of 
the false friend to whom he owed the shipwreck 
of his young life. 

“ Aye,” he muttered, “ determination such as 
mine 7nust succeed ; even the chapter of acci- 
dents at last favors me. Let me but recover 
the use of my leg, and Pll soon be upon his 
track. I wonder if he will see a report of my 


Dene tbollow. 


145 


escape in the newspapers? If so, Zip’ll not 
believe in my death ! He will hurry away to 
hide himself abroad, most likely. But, by 
Heaven ! I’ll track him down, if I have to 
follow him to the remotest corner of the earth ! 
And when I do — I’ll kill him, for the venomous 
reptile that he is ! ” 

There was no trace of wild passion in all 
this. It was simply the fixed resolve of a 
determined man to avenge himself upon his 
foe. Some thought he gave to Ethel Conyers, 
but it was merely contemptuous. She had 
believed him to be guilty, and she had married 
his betrayer. Well, she was a woman. Per- 
haps in killing her husband, he would also 
punish her ; or perhaps she was, by this time, 
as false to Darrell as she had been to him. He 
cared nothing, either way. 

Then there was Bob Dyver. Dear old Bob ! 
He must contrive, with Mr. Grad well’s help, to 
write to him and let him know all that had oc- 
curred. Lastly there arose the more recent 
vision of a girlish figure in a neat black dress, 
and of large, pitying brown eyes which had told 
their own tale of sympathy with him in his 
great sufferings. Indeed, his very last thoughts 
were of Myra Gradwellere he fell into a dream- 
less sleep. 

A man who has gone through Morley Griffin’s 
late experiences will sleep a great many hours, 
if undisturbed ; and it was probably late in the 


146 


Dartmoor, 


afternoon when he awoke, feeling considerably 
refreshed but so stiff that he could scarely move. 
The huge lamp was still burning, and he made 
shift to trim it and to replenish it with oil ; but 
he felt unequal to the task of preparing some 
tea. So he broke his fast with the contents of 
Myra’s basket, applied fresh lotion to his ankle, 
and was glad to lie down again in expectation 
of a visit from Mr. Gradwell. He satisfied him- 
self that the ribs, which he had supposed broken, 
were merely badly bruised, as indeed was his 
whole body from head to foot. More than ever 
he realized how utterly hopeless would have 
been his condition had he not so providentially 
fallen across this haven of refuge ; and heartfelt 
indeed were his thanks to his law-breaking 
benefactor, as he lay coiled up in his blankets. 
He killed the time, as best he could, reading, 
smoking, eating, and drinking a well-diluted mix- 
ture of his host’s potent spirit. After his prison 
life, the mere fact of having absolutely nothing 
to do was in itself a newly found source of hap- 
piness. 

In point of fact, Mr. Gradwell did not make 
his appearance until the evening of thejollowing 
day. He brought with him a plentiful supply 
of provisions, and informed Morley that, as he 
had foreseen, a search-party of warders had 
visited the cottage, some of whom had hung 
about the neighborhood, off and on, ever since. 
They were very eager to recapture the prison- 


2)ene Ibollow* 


147 


ers, whose escape they regarded as a disgrace to 
the whole staff, and had offered him a large re- 
ward should he be able to send a hint to the 
prison as to their whereabouts. Not until he 
had seen the last of them well away had he 
deemed it prudent to venture near the cave. 

“ You see,” he added, “ Dene Hollow is one 
of the likeliest places an escaped prisoner 
would make for ; and it used to be rather fa- 
mous in the olden days as a haunt for outlaws. 
However, so far they suspect nothing, though 
it’s likely enough they’ll watch the neighbor- 
hood for a week or so to come. How’s the 
foot.^ Better? That’s a good hearing. I’ve 
brought you some fresh bandages and a bottle 
of Eliman. You must move about as little as 
possible ; I’ll arrange all you require, within 
reach.” 

And thereupon this big-hearted contrabandist 
proceeded to explain how his guest was to 
manage the hot-water lamp, \Vhere he could 
lay his hands upon various articles ; and, lastly, 
he gave him a watch. 

“ Now,” he concluded, “ I’ll just have one 
pipe with you, and a glass of grog. I don’t 
care to be away from the cottage very long, in 
case of accidents.” 

After a half-an-hour’s cheerful conversation, 
and having promised to dispatch Morley’s 
letter to Bob Dyver, he rose to depart. 

“You may expect me,” he said, “at about 


148 


Dartmoor. 


five o’clock to-morrow ; but if anything occurs 
to prevent my coming. I’ll send Myra. Keep 
your spirits up ! ” 

“ And this man,” thought Morley, “ is what 
the Law would call a criminal, because he gains 
his livelihood at the expense of the Excise. 
Were he a law-abiding citizen, no doubt he 
would have betrayed me to my pursuers, and 
have profited by the blood-money offered for 
my recapture. It is lucky for me he isn’t ! ” 

Rest and Eliman did wonders. At the end 
of four days Morley informed his host, who had 
found opportunity to visit him each day, that 
he felt well enough for the road. 

“ Well, that’s good news,” replied Gradwell, 
“ and I daresay you are pretty well tired of ex- 
istence down here. But the hue-and-cry is 
hotter than ever just at present, and you’d 
scarcely stand the ghost of a chance of getting 
away. Isolated as my place is, I don’t hear 
much of what is going on ; but this morning I 
had another visit from a party of police and 
warders. It seems the whole country-side is in 
a state of ferment. What sort of a man is the 
the other prisoner who escaped ? ” 

“ About the lowest type of an incarnate 
brute that ever cheated the gallows,” replied 
Morley. “ He is a giant in size and strength, 
and a perfect tiger in ferocity. He was known 
in the prison as ‘The Wolf,’ and fully de- 
serves the epithet.” 


2)ene Ibollow. 


149 


“ Then no doubt the police are right,” ex- 
claimed Gradwell ; “ and he has added at least 
two more murders to his record ! Three days 
ago a cottage, about five miles from here, was 
broken into, a woman was murdered, and her 
child, aged five years, probably killed also, 
although its body has not been found. Yester- 
day, in quite a different locality, two lads re- 
turning home from school were pursued by a 
very big man, dressed in some sort of old sack, 
and yelling like a demon. They fled in differ- 
ent directions. One escaped, but the other has 
not since been heard of. Is your man mad ? ” 

“ No ; at least, he was never so considered. 
But he is quite capable of committing murder 
without the excuse of insanity.” 

“ Very likely,” persisted Gradwell ; “ but these 
acts seem to be those of a madman. What 
motive could he have ? ” 

A terrible suspicion flashed across Morley’s 
mind. 

“ Great God ! ” he cried. “ If, after many 
days of exposure and starvation upon the moor. 
The Wolf’s reason has really given way, one 
ghastly explanation is possible ! Listen.” And 
he narrated Number 916’s experiences amongst 
the shipwreck crew. 

Both Morley and his host were men of what 
may justly be described as iron nerve ; yet, 
when Morley had finished, they looked at each 


150 i)artmoor. 

other with horror-stricken eyes and blanched 
cheeks. 

Gradwell sprang to his feet. 

“ This brute,” he cried, “ by his own showing 
has been a cannibal, and boasts of it ! He is 
now, I am convinced, a raving maniac, and a 
craving for human flesh is the one idea in his 
mind. He is at large in a wild district, where 
the habitations are few and far apart. He 
must be hunted down like a wild beast! Upon 
this point at least I am with the police; and 
what’s more. I’ll head a party myself. I have 
my own ideas of Duty, such as they are, and 
they speak pretty plainly here. With a couple 
of men, such as I can lay hands upon, and who, 
like myself, know every nook and cranny in the 
district, wx’ll soon bring this human tiger to 
bay ! ” 

“ Would that I could accompany you 1 ” 
answered Moiiey, who felt in a measure re- 
sponsible for The Wolf’s escape, although, of 
course, he could not have foreseen its dire con- 
sequences. “ But consider the danger of leav- 
ing your daughter unprotected in the cottage.” 

“You’re right,” assented Gradwell regret- 
fully. “ I can’t leave her. . . . Yet stay. If 
The Wolf should attack the cottage — and what 
more likely, seeing how isolated it stands ? — and 
succeed in overpowering me, Myra would be 
at his mercy. From your description of him, I 
would be no match for him if he took me 


S)ene IboUow. 


51 


unawares and without a revolver in my hand, 
and I can’t keep guard night and day. I tell 
you what it is, sir. Until The Wolf is caught 
or killed, the safest place for Myra and for old 
Janet will be down here in the cave.” 

“ There is much force in what you say,” 
assented Morley, “ if your daughter can put up 
with such rough quarters.” 

“ Trust her for that,” was the reply. “ Safety 
is more important than comfort, anyhow. My 
mind is quite made up on the matter. I’ll bring 
her and Janet early to-morrow morning and 
leave them under your protection whilst I and 
my men are tracking down The Wolf. You 
see I trust you, sir, although you are an 
‘ escaped convict ! ’ ” 

Instinctively the two right hands met in a 
cordial grip. 

“ I don’t suppose it’s likely that The Wolf 
will stumble across this hiding-place,” said 
.Morley, quietly. “ But, in any case, I think I 
can promise you that Miss Gradwell will be 
safe, I believe I am a little bit stronger even 
than The Wolf,” he added, with a slight smile. 

“ Oh ! I shall have no fear once Myra is 
down here,” answered Gradwell. “ Meanwhile 
I’ll get back home. ^ There’s no telling where 
and when that murderous savage may turn up 
next.” And, so saying, he hurried off to put 
his newly-formed plan into execution. 


2)artmoor, 


152- 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE WOLF. 

True to his word, Mr. Grad well returned 
next morning, accompanied by Myra and the 
old circus-rider, and followed by two stalwart 
fellows bearing a liberal supply of bedding and 
provisions. 

“ These are two law-breakers like myself,” 
he explained, “ but, like me, they have homes 
to defend, and mean to do it. I have an idea 
that The Wolf, as you call him, is skulking about 
a place some six miles from here, and that’s 
where we are going to look for him. It may be 
he has gone further afield, and if we find reason 
to think so, we shall follow him up. So, as 
likely as not, you won’t see me again for a 
couple of days. Good-bye, -sir ! I leave all 
that I have of most precious in this world in 
your care. Good-bye, Myra lass ! Remem- 
ber, you are now under Mr. Griffin’s charge, 
and that you must on no account venture 
out until I return. Ta, ta, old girl ! Got 
your knitting all right } That’s the style. 
Don’t forget those woollen socks you promised 
me. Come along, my lads ! ” 


Zbc molt. 


153 


Of course Myra and the old woman had 
Morley’s late quarters, whilst he arranged a 
shake-down for himself in the larger cave. 
Myra evidently knew the place well. She ex- 
plained to Morley that some empty casks in one 
corner concealed the entrance to a third cave, 
from which 'access could be gained to a ravine. 
In this cave were stored sacks of grain, used in 
the process of distilling, kegs of manufactured 
spirit, oil, and the various other necessary sup- 
plies. 

They soon became very good friends, Mor- 
ley taking a keen interest in the sayings and 
doings of his pretty companion, whilst she 
clearly regarded him with a Miranda-like 
wonder and admiration. As for old Janet, 
however valuable her presence might be as a 
guardian of the proprieties, she crouched by 
the lamp-stove, knitting and crooning to herself, 
and paying little or no heed to the young peo- 
ple. 

Under such circumstances, it was scarcely to 
be wondered at if friendship quickly ripened 
into something near akin to a very much 
stronger feeling. Thrown together as they 
were, they got a clearer insight into each 
other’s characters and tastes in a few hours than 
would have been possible, under ordinary con- 
ditions, in as many months. There chanced 
to be several poetical works amongst the 
books, and these, as read aloud by Morley, 


154 


2)artmoor. 


added fuel to the fire. In plain English, they 
were going through that ancient but still popu- 
lar process known as falling in love, at lightning 
speed. 

I do not think that I have as yet described 
the young girl. Well, it is easily done — in out- 
line ; but there was a certain piquant charm of 
manner that was not shyness, although near 
akin to it, and an indefinable something of per- 
fect innocence and thoroughness about her, 
which I can find no words to convey. To be- 
gin with, she was eighteen, tall, and willowy as 
a young ash-plant ; a wealth of rich brown hair, 
which it seemed a shame to tie up in a coronet ; 
dark brown eyes, fringed by unusually long 
lashes ; complexion naturally fair, but tanned 
to a richer hue than one sees in Regent Street. 
I think the nose was just the least bit in the 
world retj'oiisse, but certainly it had no just 
cause (unless it were jealousy) to turn away 
from the sweet little Cupid’s-bow mouth. Oh, 
dear, dear ! That little mouth ! When Myra 
Gradwell sat with her lips parted, just enough 
to show a glimpse of her small pearly teeth, the 
temptation to kiss them was almost more than 
Morley could resist. Yet, so far, greatly to his 
credit, he had resisted it. 

Myra’s great delight was to make him tell 
her his story over and over again. Upon one 
of these occasions he referred somewhat bit- 
terly to Hugh Darrell’s marriage. 


zbc molt 


155 


“ Was she 7>ery beautiful when you knew 
lier?” asked Myra, for whom everything con- 
nected with Ethel Conyers seemed to have an 
especial attraction. 

“ Yes,” replied Morley, “ she was very — very 
beautiful.” 

Myra gave a little sigh — of sympathy, doubt- 
less, in Morley ’s loss of this very beautiful crea- 
ture. 

“ I think, now, that I only loved her for her 
beauty,” added Morley, thoughtfully, “ for it 
all died in my heart when I learned that she had 
married my betrayer.” 

Upon one point Myra was very firm indeed. 
She would not hear of any such thing as re- 
venge upon Darrell ; and she easily gathered 
from Morley ’s manner, if not from his words, 
that he contemplated vengeance. 

“No!” she exclaimed, her beautiful eyes 
kindling with a noble enthusiasm. “ Such an 
idea is unworthy of you. Now you are a 
martyr ; but if you seek merely to avenge your- 
self, you sink to the level of the bad man who 
wronged you. Leave him to Heaven and to 
his own guilty conscience. They will avenge 
you ! ” 

And somehow, when s//e preached these 
words of forgiveness, much of the rankling bit- 
terness seemed to die out of Morley’s heart. 

Upon the second day after her father’s 
departure, Myra became very restless and anx- 


Dartmoor, 


156 

ious ; and, at last, she insisted upon ascending 
the ladder and watching for his coming. 

“ It’s dead against orders,” said Morley, 
smiling ; “ but, as you say, there can be no 
harm in your waiting at the man-hole, and, I 
daresay, a little fresh air will do you good.” 

At the same time he resolved to keep her 
well within view ; and fortunate it was that he 
did so. 

Once at the surface, the temptation to wan- 
der a short distance into the wood and gather 
a few ferns became too strong to resist. She 
had gone perhaps a hundred yards from the 
narrow opening, through the undergrowth, and 
was pulling at a tough fern, when a rustling 
sound startled her, and, looking up, she beheld 
a sight which momentarily paralyzed her with 
terror. Stealthily stealing towards her was a 
hugh figure, clad in ragged sackcloth, and 
brandishing a heavy club. At once it flashed 
across her mind that this was The Wolf — the 
human monster whom her father had gone 
forth to slay or capture. Instinctively she rose 
to flee, but the sudden shock of fear had 
deprived her limbs of all power, and, with a 
moaning cry, she sank to the earth ! 

With a savage yell The Wolf sprang forward. 
She heard the cracking and rustling of the un- 
dergrowth, as he forced his way through to 
where she lay. She saw the fiendish eyes glar- 
ing within a few yards of her, and she closed 


(Tbe molt. 


^S7 

her own that she might not see the blow which 
should deprive her of life. Then — oh, wonder ! 
There was the swift rush of feet past her head ; 
a voice she had learned to love rang out loud 
and clear in the still air, “ Back to the cave for 
your life ! ” — and she knew that a death- 
struggle was about to take place. Back ? No ! 
Weak girl though she was, she might aid her 
champion in the conflict. At least, she would 
share his fate ; for, at that tremendous moment, 
she knew that she loved him — aye, more than 
life itself. And so it befel that she, Myra Grad- 
well, was witness of one of the most terrific 
struggles that ever yet took place between two 
men. 

Morley’s first onrush nearly cost him his life. 
He had not noticed the club, and nothing but 
his trained quickness of eye saved him from 
the murderous blow which The Wolf aimed at 
his head. He replied by countering his adver- 
sary heavily in the ribs, and then he closed with 
him. Now, considering that The Wolf was the 
taller and heaver man, and was, besides, a 
noted wrestler, this was clearly dangerous 
policy. But Morley had in reality no alterna- 
tive. The finest boxer in the world would 
stand but a poor chance against a powerful 
maniac armed with a club which, wrestling, he 
would be compelled to abandon. 

One unlucky blow from that bludgeon would 
have sealed Myra’s fate. As Morley had fore- 


158 


Dartmoor. 


seen, no sooner did the The Wolf feel his clasp 
than he dropped his weapon and, with a savage 
snarl, locked him in his long arms. Then, for 
fully ten minutes, they strained and tugged-, but 
without any perceptible advantage on either 
side. Whatever their respective strengths may 
have been before, Morley realized that, with the 
added fury of madness, The Wolf was now at 
least able to hold his own. For, that he was 
mad, raving mad, was beyond doubt. He jib- 
bered and howled incessantly, whilst, every now 
and then, he made savage bites at Morley’s 
shoulder, tearing at the stout tweed as a terrier 
worries a rag. Twice Morley had to exert his 
utmost strength to avert a fall, and his injured 
ankle was again giving way under the strain. 
If that failed him, all was lost. 

Myra looked on with clasped hands and hor- 
ror-stricken eyes. To her it seemed that this 
huge savage must, in the end, gain the mastery. 
Yet how gallantly her hero held his own ! 
Could she do nothing? Must she stand idly 
by and see him borne down to his doom inch 
by inch ? 

At that moment Morley caught sight of her 
deadly-pale face. 

“ For God’s sake !” he cried. “ Go back ! I 
dare not let go of him whilst you are there ! ” 

Myra understood, more by the tone than the 
words, that her presence interfered with some 
plan of her lover’s. 


^be molf. 


159 


“ I am going ! ” she said ; and oh ! how 
weakly and faintly the words were uttered ! 
She strove to walk some yards in the direction 
of the cave, but a deadly fascination riveted her 
eyes upon the swaying, struggling forms, and 
she again paused. 

Believing her gone, Morley suddenly slipped 
from The Wolf’s clasp, and, before the latter 
had divined his change of tactics, let him have 
right and left squarely in the face. With a yell 
of rage, the giant again essayed to close, but 
was met by a terrific upper-cut which nearly 
fractured his jaw. As a boxer, he was a mere 
child in Morley ’s hands, the blows raining in 
upon face and body until, streaming with blood, 
he turned as though to escape. He saw Myra, 
who] was staring with amazement at the changed 
aspect of the conflict, and rushed straight at 
her. Morley ’s ankle had almost completely 
given way, and his heart fairly stood still as he 
realized the maniac’s intention. He was barely 
two seconds behind The Wolf, but, in those 
two seconds, the latter had seized his victim 
and was snarling over her prostrate form. 

Then came his doom. With grip of proven 
steel, Morley 's left hand closed upon his throat, 
whilst his right hand came with such sledge- 
hammer force upon his face that the very bones 
could be heard to shatter. A gurgling cry 
came from the blood-and-foam covered mouth, 
but that deadly left hand never relaxed. The 


i6o 


Dartmoor. 


hideous face was battered out of all human 
shape, but still that pitiless right hand de- 
scended. One of the brute’s arms nerveless 
enough now, lay across Myra’s breast, Mor- 
ley jerked it fiercely aside, and then, with both 
hands, strangled his foe to the death, holding 
him thus until his black soul (if such monsters 
have souls) had surely departed. Then he 
dragged the body to a distance^ threw it amongst 
the bracken, and returned to Myra. , 

He knelt down beside her and raised her 
head upon his arm, panting, rather than speak- 
ing, reassuring words to her. But the reaction 
was too much for the poor child. She gave 
him one long look — a look the full meaning of 
which he but half-divined at that moment — ut- 
tered a little cry, and fell back in a dead faint. 
What was to be done? After a moment’s hesi- 
tation, he decided to return to the cave and se- 
cure such restoratives as he could lay hands 
upon : and he was just starting upon this mis- 
sion, when the sound of voices broke upon his 
ear. Glancing around, he saw a large body of 
warders and police and, with them, Mr. Grad- 
well. 

Before he could drop down again, he was 
himself seen and challenged. He had but a 
moment to decide what he should do ; but that 
moment sufficed. Recent events had modified 
his predetermined resolve to fight for his liberty 
to the last ; his common-sense told him that 


^Tbe molt 


i6i 

his future now showed a strong ray of hope. 
Therefore he stood quite still. An inspector 
advanced. 

“ I say, my man,” he said, “have you seen 

anything of a why, what’s this ? I say, 

Giles, isn’t this one of the two men ? ” And as 
he spoke he covered Morley with his revolver. 

“ By thunder, so it is ! ” exclaimed Giles, a 
warder. “ Number 754, by all that’s wonder- 
ful ! The other cannot be very far off, I expect.” 

“ No,” said Morley, calmly, “ he’s quite close. 
You’ll find him amongst the bracken yonder. 
I surrender,” he added to the Inspector. 

At a signal from the latter, one of his men 
advanced and handcuffed the prisoner, who 
succeeded in catching Mr. Gradwell’s eye and 
signalled him not to recognize him. Then for 
the latter’s guidance, as he knelt beside his 
daughter, he addressed the Inspector again : 

“ I got these clothes out of a cottage not very 
far from here. When I reached the spot where 
we are now standing I heard a scream and saw 
a young woman pursued by Number 916, or 
The Wolf as we used to call him. He appeared 
to be raving mad. Anyhow, to save the girl, I 
had to fight him, and the end of it was that I 
strangled him.” 

“ Then, Number 754,” replied the Inspector, 
“ you have done a brave and noble thing, 
which will do you no harm, take my word for 
it. Did the girl see the fight ? ” 


Dartmoor. 


162 

“Yes, from start to finish. The Wolf got 
away from me after a bit, and seized hold of 
her. He was within a foot of her when I 
killed him. Then she fainted, just before you 
saw me.” 

“ She’s coming round all right now I ” cried 
Mr. Grad well, who had carefully listened to 
Morley’s explanation. “ I’ll get her back to 
the cottage presently. As for you, my man, 
prisoner or no prisoner, I say that you have 
earned the undying gratitude not alone of the 
father of the girl, whose life you risked your 
own to save, but of every father in England. 
What ! you don’t mean to say you’re going to 
keep him in irons. Inspector ? ” 

The Inspector hesitated. 

“ I gave the order before I had heard what 
occurred,” he answered. “But I think that, 
under the circumstances, I may take his word 
not to escape.” 

“ That you may safely do,” said Morley, 
quietly, “ the more so as my ankle has given 
way and I could not run ten yards to save my 
life.” 

“ You'll find this will prove a good day’s 
work,” rejoined the Inspector, motioning to a 
subordinate to remove the handcuffs. “ I am 
not Home Secretary, but I have known free 
pardons to be granted for less than this.” 

Mr. Gradwell conversed in a low tone with 
Myra, who presently came forward and, though 


Zbc limolt 


163 

still very pale and weak, thanked her deliverer 
before them all, but, of course, as an utter 
stranger. Her eyes, however, told Morley 
their own tale. 

“ I’ll get a monster petition in your favor 
signed by the whole country-side,” whispered 
Gradwell. “ Smart idea of yours, not to know 
me. I’ll see you again up at the prison.” 

And then he and Myra walked homewards, 
wondering what poor old Janet down in the 
cave would think of her temporary abandon- 
ment. 

The Inspector and his men surveyed the 
corpse of The Wolf with mingled disgust and 
amazement. 

“ I could never have believed,” he remarked, 
gravely, “ that any one man could so mutilate a 
giant like that with no other weapons than 
his hands. You must be a Hercules yourself.” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Warder Giles, “ Number 754 
is well-known. I always said he was a better 
man than the big Cornishman, though hang me 
if I thought he could make such pulp of him as 
that!" 

There being a dozen men present, it was de- 
cided to make shift to carry The Wolf’s re- 
mains as far as Mr. Gradwell ’s cottage, where 
some sort of a stretcher could be improvised. 
This was accordingly done ; and ultimately the 
party reached the prison, Morley having also to 
be carried the greater part of the way. 


H)artmoor» 


164 

Thus it came to pass that Number 754, de- 
spite his desperate vow, found himself once 
more under lock and key, but this time com- 
fortably lodged in the infirmary, where he re- 
ceived a succession of visits, from the Governor 
and the Chaplain down to the senior Warder 
who had been in charge of the gang from which 
he escaped. 

An inquest was held upon The Wolf, and a 
verdict of “Justifiable homicide,” coupled with 
a strong rider in favor of prisoner Number 
754, was unhesitatingly returned, upon Myra’s 
evidence. The press, both in London, and the 
provinces, took the case up very warmly, and 
Morley Griffin had every reason to believe that 
a free pardon would shortly be granted to him. 


1bu9banO anb TOfe. 


i6s 


CHAPTER XIV. 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

Upon the evening of the day of Morley 
Griffin’s escape, she whom he had known as 
Ethel Conyers was alone in a private sitting- 
room in a fashionable West-End hotel, staring 
absently into the fire-place as though seeking to 
trace the future in the fantastic shapes assumed 
by the glowing embers. The presence of 
dessert and of but a single convert upon the cen- 
tre-table made it plain that she had dined alone ; 
indeed, of late, her husband had frequently 
thus absented himself upon a plea of important 
engagements with business men of his acquain- 
tance. Eight short months’ possession of his 
idol had sufficed to change the ardent lover into 
the callous husband, and the young wife had 
realized the fact. 

“ Hugh is tired of me already,” she said to 
herself, bitterly, “ and scarcely seeks to disguise 
it ! And I Do I care for him more than 
when, without a spark of affection for him in 
my heart, I was talked over into marrying him 
for the sake of the position his wealth would 
confei } No ! A thousand times, no ! . . . 


2)artmoor. 


1 66 


He told me he would make me love him, and 
he keeps his word by treating me with neglect. 
Love him } Would to Heaven I had never 
seen him, or that I might leave him, this very 
night, never to see him again ! ” 

Presently Hugh Darrell entered the room, a 
cigar in his mouth (although he knew his wife 
disliked the pungent odor), and an unopened 
evening paper in his hand — something to fall 
back upon, apparently, should conversation 
languish. 

“ I got away early on purpose, Ethel,” he 
said, in a politely apologetic Lone, “ thinking 
you might find it lonely here all by yourself. 1 
hope they dined you all right ? Why, you look 
as miserable as a stray dog upon a wet day ! 
What is the matter } ” 

“ I have been thinking,” she replied, her 
eyes still fixed upon the embers. “ That is all.” 

Hugh Darrell surveyed his young wife with 
his old cynical smile. 

“ Thinking ? ” he echoed. “ That’s very 
foolish. Women, and especially young women, 
should never think ; it’s out of their line alto- 
gether, and brings on wrinkles. And, pray, 
what particularly disagreeable form did your 
thoughts take } ” 

“ 1 have been thinking,” she answered, coldly, 
“ that our marriage was a mistake, a terrible 
mistake, for us both.” 

“Upon my word!” exclaimed Darrell, with 


IbusbanC) m\t> 


167 


a harsh laugh. “ That is a pleasant remark 
for a wife of eight months’ standing to make 
to her husband ! ” 

“ Pleasant or not,” was the quick retort, “ you 
have already succeeded in teaching me that it 
is true.” 

“ Heavens above ! ” rejoined Darrell, mock- 
ingly, apostrophizing the ceiling. “ Was there 
ever yet such an unreasonable young woman ? 
Because I am compelled now and then to dine 
at houses to which I do not care to take my 
wife, she discovers that she is a most ill-used 
creature, and that our marriage was a mis- 
take ! Well, perhaps it was ; possibly you 
have merely anticipated me in the discovery. 
But, as the contract cannot very well be unmade 
just now, I fear we must both put up with the 
consequences for some time longer.” 

The girl-wife rose to her feet, her blue eyes 
flashing, and looking extremely beautiful in 
her scorn. In an instant Darrell had encircled 
her waist and had forced her down upon his 
knee. 

“ Do you know, cara mia,” he said, his eyes 
lighting up with revived passion, “ this stormy 
mood suits you to perfection ? You are doubly 
charming when you show fight ! ” And hold- 
ing her in his arms, despite her struggles, he 
rained hot kisses upon her lips. “ You see I 
am not tired of you yet, my pretty bird,” he 
added, “ however you may feel towards me. 


Dartmoor. 


1 68 

There ! get to bed early to-night, or you’ll be 
as white as a sheet to-morrow.” 

Ethel’s slender figure shook with a storm of 
suppressed sobs as she quitted the room. She 
had come to dread her husband’s embraces far 
more than his sneers ; and he spared her 
neither. Yet what could she do ? Was she 
not his plaything, his wife ? And — most mad- 
dening reflection of all ! — she had brought all 
this misery upon herself by selling herself to a 
man she had never cared for, at her mother’s 
bidding! Truly her punishment had been 
^ swift and bitter. 

A self-satisfied look was upon Darrell’s face 
as he found himself some whisky, lit a fresh 
cigar, and settled down in an easy-chair to 
glance through his newspaper. He had never 
felt on better terms with himself. True he had 
latterly received no report from Jason, but that 
individual’s previous reports had made it clear 
he was persecuting and goading Morley Griffin 
to the utmost. How neatly, too, he had blocked 
Dyver’s plans for an escape ! Yes, the scoun- 
drel was certainly earning his money, and 
would, no doubt, contrive to earn the larger 
sum ere long ! He even found subject for 
rejoicing in his wife’s outburst. After all,’ 
although her beauty had not quite palled upon 
him yet, he was sure sooner or later to grow 
tired of such an empty-headed doll, and she 
had made it clear that she would gladly consent 


IbusbanD anb TiCllfe, 


169 


to a separation on any terms. As for Lady 
Conyers, it would serve the mercenary old 
woman right to have her daughter thrown back 
on her hands again. But one matter had not 
turned out to his satisfaction. Griffin’s lawyers 
had, so far, successfully resisted all efforts 
made by nurse Martha to enforce the penalty- 
clause of the Colonel’s Will. But that, too, 
would doubtless come right in course of time, 
'fhese and similar reflections passed through 
Darrell’s brain as he scanned the columns of 
the newspaper. .Suddenly his eye fell upon a 
paragraph which fairly made his heart stand 
still; — 

“Desperate Escape of Convicts. — An 
escape of a singularly daring nature is reported 
to-day from Dartmoor. It seems that, profit- 
ing by a sudden and heavy mist, two prisoners 
employed in the quarry-gang made a dash for 
freedom, and have so far eluded recapture, 
although heavily fettered together by leg-irons. 
Parties of warders and police are scouring the 
district. The names of the escapees, who are 
said to be men of exceptional stature and 
strength, are Griffin and Bloggs. The former 
was serving a sentence of seven years for forg- 
ery, whilst the latter is a ‘ lifer ’ reprieved from 
the gallows.” 

“ Morley Griffin escaped ! ” gasped Darrell, 


170 2 )artmoor. 

hurriedly gulping down some whisky, though 
his trembling hand could scarce raise the glass 
to his lips. “ The one thing that I dreaded 
come to pass ! . . . Griffin a free man, and the 
first use he will make of his liberty will be to 
hunt me out and kill me ! I know it as well as 
though I already felt his deadly grip upon my 
throat. My only hope is to get away — to put 
the greatest possible distance of sea and land 
between us. And that means the abandonment 
of all my plans for the future. How could I 
exist as a fugitive in a strange land ? ... Yet 
stay ! Griffin is at large, it is true, but the 
odds are great he’ll be recaptured alive or dead. 
The report says that parties of warders and 
police are scouring 'the district: they cannot 
fail to overtake him, and then, if he shows fight 
(as he certainly will), they’ll shoot him. Of 
course ! What a fool I am to worry and 
frighten myself simply because Griffin has 
giv^en his gaolers the slip for a few hours ! ” 

Yet, despite these reassuring reflections, 
Hugh Darrell could find no peace, and sought 
fictitious confidence by repeated applications to 
the whisky-bottle. Usually an abstemious 
man, the fumes of the spirit, which he now so 
recklessly swallowed, presently mounted to his 
brain, and, for probably the first time in his life, 
he got drunk. His wife was sleeping when he 
at last staggered into her room, still carrying 
the newspaper in his left hand. 


1bu0banC) anb Wiitc* 


171 

“ Ethel ! ” he hiccoughed, shaking her roughly 
by the shoulder, “ I have found something in 
the paper that will interest you. Your old 
lover, Morley Griffin, has made his escape. 
Are you not glad ? ” 

Ethel stared in bewildered fashion at her 
husband. Changeable as were his moods, she 
had never seen him like this before. His eyes 
were swollen, his utterance thick and jerky, his 
breath tainted. She had never seen a drunken 
man before, but she knew that he was drunk 
now. 

“ Leave me ! ” she said, indignantly. “ How 
dare you insult me by your presence in your 
present state ? Leave me, I say ! ” 

“ Oh, I’m all right, you pretty little spitfire ! ” 
hiccoughed Darrell, reeling as he spoke. 
“Took a little too much whisky celebrating 
your old sweetheart’s escape . . . that’s all. 

, . . Leave you.^ Not 1. . . . Never saw you 
look more charming, and your kisses will 
freshen me up. . . . Confound that mat ! ” 

In staggering backwards, Darrell tripped over 
a thick, woolly mat, was powerless to recover 
his balance, and fell heavily to the floor, where 
he lay stunned and motionless. 

When, late the following morning, he awoke 
from the drunken slumber that ensued and 
rose to his feet, he was alone in the room, and, 
from certain signs around, at once suspected 
that his wife had quitted the hotel. A short 


172 


Bartmoor. 


note, addressed to him and lying upon the 
dressing-table, confirmed his suspicions : — 

“ After your otdrageous conduct last flight," 
it ran, “ / have resolved to leave you. I am 
going to rejoifi Mamma at Naples, and have 
taken my maid with me. We left you lying 
upon the floor, sleeping off the effects of your 
debauch, and told your mafi not to enter the 
room until you shoidd Ying. — E. D." 

“ So you’ve cleared out, my lady, have you ? ” 
he muttered. “ Let me see. . . . eleven 
o’clock. . . . You’re half-way to Paris by this 
time, for I suppose you caught the early mail. 
Shall I start in pursuit ? . . . Why should I ? 
Better that I should have my hands clear at the 
present juncture — at all events until I learn 
that Griffin has been retaken or shot.” And, 
having thus decided, he rang for his valet. 

“ At what time did Mrs. Darrell leave the 
hotel, Simpson ? ” he inquired. 

“ Shortly after seven, sir,” was the reply. 

“Very good,” said his master. “You will 
pack up my things and hold yourself in readi- 
ness for our departure to-day or to-morrow. 
Tell the people here to make out my account. 
Get me a brandy and soda and The Times." 

In the great journal Darrell found a more 
detailed account of the escape ; but so far, it 
appeared that the two convicts had eluded 


1bu6ban& and ‘UHife. 


173 


pursuit. That looked as though they had suc- 
ceeded ill getting away from the immediate 
neighborhood of Dartmoor at all events, and 
the dread that Morley Griffin might, after all, 
baffle the police and make his way up to Lon- 
don returned with full force. Very probably 
Uyver had been forewarned of the attempt 
about to be made and had found means to 
assist Griffin in his flight. In his feverish 
anxiety, Darrell sought out Jacob Aaronson 
and found the Jew in a state of nervous dread 
fully equal to his own. 

“ If Griffin should succeed in reaching Lon- 
don,” said Darrell, in grave, emphatic tones, 
“ and can lay hands upon either of us, there’ll 
be murder done.” 

^ “ Hush ! ” urged Aaronson, turning a sickly 

white, “ don’t talk of such things ! Why should 
he seek to harm me ? I only discounted a bill 
that you swore at the trial was a forgery, and 
gave my good money for his worthless paper. 
He can have nothing against me.” 

“ It won’t hold water, my prince of usurers ! ” 
retorted Darrell, with a dr3% forced laugh. 
“ Griffin saw through the whole plot when he 
found himself caught in the trap, and could 
gauge your share in the business to a nicety. 
Take my word for it, he would as soon fix those 
big fingers of his in your throat as in mine. 
We’re in the same boat. Master Jacob, and the 
best thing we can do is to pull together.” 


174 


2)artmoor, 


“ What can we do ? ” asked the Jew, eagerly. 

“ I know what / shall do,” was the reply, 
“and, if you’re wise, you’ll do the same. Keep 
out of the way for a few days, to see if the 
police will succeed in retaking him. If they 
doll t, then there’s nothing for it but to make a 
bolt for it, abroad, and obliterate our traces as 
best we may. And, by the way, you’ll have to 
provide the greater portion of the funds. I’ve 
been spending rather too freely for some time 
past and mine are at a low ebb.” 

Aaronson groaned. J 

“ How could I leave my business ? ” he 
wailed. “ Every day that I am away would 
mean a loss to me of money and of clients, 
who would fall into other hands. I can't go ! ” 

“ Money and clients are good enough in their#, 
way,” rejoined Darrell, grimly, “ but life is better, 
and I repeat that if ever Griffin sets eyes upon 
you he’ll kill you.” 

To work up the Jew’s fears to concert 
pitch was not a difficult matter, and, in the 
end, he agreed that, should Griffin evade cap- 
ture much longer, flight offered the surest 
means of escaping his vengeance. But upon 
the question of providing the necessary funds, 
he proved less amenable to argument. He fi- 
nally agreed, should flight become necessary, 
to advance Darrell £200 upon his note-of-hand, 
but beyond that he stubbornly refused to go. 

“ Mrs. Nesbit has plenty of money,” he 


IbusbanD anb Mife. 


175 


added. “ You are her adopted son. She 
stands to make ^16,000 out of Morley Griffin. 
Ask her to help you.” 

This Darrell had already decided in his own 
mind to do. His attack upon the Jew’s purse- 
strings, through his fears, was merely a supple- 
mentary scheme. 

“Of course I shall,” he assented, “and I’ve 
no doubt she will do what she can, though I 
doubt if she has much ready-money at com- 
mand.” 

“ I tell you she has,” persisted Aaronson, 
“ and I know her affairs pretty well. The very 
nature of her business — lending upon jewelry 
and such like — compels her to keep large sums 
at hand, and she has title-deeds in her safe 
that I would lend ^5,000 upon, myself.” 

“ The deuce she has ! ” thought Darrell. 
“ Then she has been playing a dark game with 
me : I fancied 1 had bled her drier than that 
amounts to. — Well,” he added aloud, “ I must 
try what I can do with. her. You say you’ll 
lend ^5,000 upon her title-deeds.? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Aaronson, with a cunning 
leer, “ if she’ll let you have them.” 

“ We shall see,” rejoined Darrell curtly. 

And he thereupon returned to his hotel to plan 
out his immediate movements. He presently 
made up his mind and, the evening papers con- 
taining no further news of the escapees, paid his 
bill and ordered his servant to be at Charing 


176 


2)artmoor. 


Cross station with the luggage at lo p. m., say- 
ing no word as to their destination. He had 
decided to await the issue of events at Dover, 
and there, in a quiet hotel a little way out of 
the town, he accordingly took up his quarters 
under his former pseudonym of Barrett. 

“ This is a rum start,” soliloquized the valet. 
“ I wonder what little game the master’s up to 
now.? I’d wager a quarter’s wages there’s 
another petticoat at the bottom of it ! ” 


Zbc /llbeasure of Uniquitg ie 3 f([lcD. 177 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE MEASURE OF INIQUITY IS FILLED. 

As day succeeded day and still no news was 
published of the recapture of the escaped con- 
victs, Hugh Darrell’s anxiety grew to be well- 
nigh intolerable, and, in sheer desperation, he 
fell back upon the whisky-bottle to sustain his 
sinking courage. Day and night the uppermost 
thought in his mind was that Morley Griffin was 
assuredly upon his track, and might at any mo- 
ment run him to earth. He corresponded with 
Aaronson, who was lying perdu in a northern 
London suburb, but the two partners in iniquity 
had little to write to each other of a consolatory 
nature. At length came the news of Morley 
Griffin’s surrender to the search-party, after his 
fearful encounter with The Wolf. The entire 
Press rang with the exploit, and the opinion 
seemed to be unanimous that it merited substan- 
tial recognition at the hands of the Home Secre- 
tary; indeed, a Free Pardon was spoken of as 
a foregone conclusion. 

Then, indeed, Darrell realized that, to use his 
own phrase, “the game was up.” If Griffin 
was a foe to be dreaded whilst still a hunted 


175 


Dartmoor* 


outlaw, how much more formidable would he 
not be as a free man ? He was not the sort of 
antagonist to postpone the settlement of his ter- 
rible score, and Darrell knew that the day of 
reckoning must now be close at hand. Some 
little delay there might be ere the Free Pardon 
would be actually granted ; but, with the strong- 
influence that would be brought to bear by 
Dyver’s numerous friends, this delay would 
probably be of the briefest. 

Hesitation formed no part of Darrell’s char- 
acter. He straightway resolved to return to 
London, raise what money he could by any 
and all means in his power, and sail from some 
foreign port for the United States. The pres- 
ence of Simpson would henceforth be an in- 
cumbrance. He commenced, therefore, by 
paying him off and discharging him, with an 
excellent character, upon a plea of an urgent 
summons to Italy. He then took train to Lon- 
don, leaving the bulk of his luggage at Dover. 

His first visit was to the hotel, at which he 
and his wife had stayed, for such letters as might 
have arrived during his absence. 

“ A young foreigner was here inquiring for 
you yesterday, sir,” the hall-porter told him. 
“ Couldn’t speak a word of English, but had 
your name written on a card. So I sent for 
one of the waiters, who is an Italian. He told 
me the foreigner was an Italian also — a Neapol- 
itan, by his accent,— but, beyond the fact that 


^Tbe /Ibeasure of IFniaiuts is 3filleb» 179 


he wished to see you upon very important busi- 
ness, he was very uncommunicative.” 

“A Neapolitan to see me ” said Darrell, 
musingly. “ I wonder what about ? Oh, I 
think I know ! Mrs. Darrell has joined her 
mother, Lady Conyers, at Naples, and this 
young man was probably sent by them. Ask 
him to call at this address, should he return, 
will you ? ” 

“ Certainly, sir,” was the reply. “ Thank 
you, sir.” 

“ No letter from Ethel or her mother,” mut- 
tered Darrell, as he hailed a hansom and bade 
the man drive to an obscure street in Camden 
Town where Aaronson had sought refuge. “ I 
suppose this mysterious foreigner is the bearer 
of some sort of ultimatum from the old woman. 
Rather a sell for her to have the girl thrown 
back on her hands ;,but, as Ethel bolted of her 
own accord, she can’t blame me. Let them set- 
tle it between themselves when I’m gone.” 

He found Aaronson (or Mr, Moss, as he 
temporarily called himself) at home, and at 
once came to the point. 

“ The game’s up, Aaronson,” he said, in 
short, decided tones, “ and the sooner we’re off 
the better. I hear Griffin will receive a Free 
Pardon in a day or so.” 

This was pure invention, but it produced the 
desired effect upon the frightened Jew. 

“ Holy Moses ! ” he gasped. “ So soon as 


i8o 


Dartmoor. 


that ? The newspapers merely speak of it as a 
probability, in course of time ” 

“It’s a certainty, I tell you,” interrupted Dar- 
rell, “ and the man has influential friends, who 
can do what they please with the Home Office. 
Morley Griffin will be in London, a free man, 
within forty-eight hours.” 

Aaronson shuffled about the room in an 
agony of agitation. 

“ I can’t transfer my business, in so short a 
time, without heavy loss,” he groaned. “ I 
shall be a ruined man if I go away.” 

“ You know best about that,” retorted Dar- 
rell, with a sneer. “ But you'll most certainly 
be a dead man if you stay.” 

“ I might get a friend to see Mr. Griffin,” 
urged the Jew. “ He owes me money. I will 
freely forgive the debt and pay him more 
besides. He will need money, and surely he 
can be squared ! ” 

“ Squared ! ” echoed Darrell, scornfully. 
“ With what do you fancy you can square a 
man who has suffered two years’ penal servitude 
through your treachery ? You don’t know 
Morley Griffin, Aaronson. I tell you that all 
the gold in the Bank of England would not 
square him, as you call it. Our only hope of 
safety is to get clear away before he is liberated, 
and our time is very short. Of course you are 
amply provided with funds. But, as I told you, 
I am not, and will thank you to cash this note- 


^be /Ibcasurc ot Ifnlauit^ ie ifillcb. i8i 


of-hand for ;!^200, as you promised. That, with 
what I may succeed in getting from Martha 
Nesbitt, may suffice to see me through.” 

With manifest reluctance, Aaronson gave 
Darrell a cheque for ;,^I75 in exchange for the 
note, deducting ^25 for three months’ interest. 

“ And now,” said Darrell, “ let us under- 
stand each other’s movements. I shall see 
Martha to-night, and shall call here to-morrow 
morning to let you know the result.” 

“ Try and get her to lend you those title- 
deeds,” urged the Jew, eagerly. 

“ I’ll do my best,” was the reply. “ Make 
your own arrangements so as to be ready to 
leave to-morrow evening for Dover with me.” 

To this Aaronson, with much lamenting, 
agreed ; and Darrell departed to cash his 
cheque and to telegraph to nurse Martha that 
he would visit her at nine o’clock. Having 
executed these operations, he bent his steps 
towards his former bachelor quarters, and left 
a note penciled in Italian for the Neapolitan 
messenger. 

“/ s/ia// be here io- 7 norrow,” it ran, ''at 
twelve or otie o'clock, — H. D.” 

Darrell arrived at Laburnum Cottage rather 
before than behind time, and nurse Martha re- 
ceived him as usual with open arms. Scoun- 
drel though he was and utterly void of principle 


Dartmoor, 


lb2 

though she knew him to be, he was all-in-all to 
the lonely old woman, who, moreover, as you 
know, was herself not troubled with scruples 
where money was to be gained or a vengeful 
scheme furthered. She had not seen Hugh for 
nearly a month, and was startled by his altered, 
haggard appearance. She saw, too, unmis- 
takeable signs that he had been drinking ; and, 
indeed, almost the first words he spoke were a 
request for whisky. 

“ I don’t like to see that. Master Hugh,” she 
said, gravely, as he helped himself largely to 
the spirit. “ It’s not like you to dull your 
keen wits with drink.” 

“ Bah ! ” ejaculated Darrell, impatiently. 
“ What’s the use of keen wits when the game 
is lost ? I tell you, Martha, that, but for drink, 
I couldn’t have stood the strain since Griffin 
made his escape. Can’t you imagine what the 
feeling that you are being hunted dotun is like } 
Do you suppose I can forget the look of undy- 
ing vengeance in his eyes, when he hurled him- 
self upon me in the Court, and the grip of his 
fingers upon my throat ? ” 

“ I had thought you made of sterner stuff,” 
answered the old woman, with a shade of con- 
tempt in her tone, “ than to frighten yourself 
with shadows. Even supposing Morley Griffin 
had succeeded in reaching London, how long 
do you suppose he would have eluded the Scot- 
land Yard detectives — conspicuous as he is 


tibe /Ifteaeure of irnlquitis is ifilleb, 183 


from his unusual stature ? You were not com- 
pelled to remain in the Metropolis, and how 
could a hunted outlaw like he hope to follow 
your trail ? Besides, could you not carry a 
revolver and shoot him at sight if, by any 
chance, you did meet? Your fears got the 
better of your common-sense, Master Hugh, 
and you made matters worse by ruining your 
nerves with drink.” 

No man likes to be told that he has been a 
coward and a fool ; and Hugh Darrell glared 
at Mrs, Nesbitt viciously. Yet against her 
cool, dispassionate statement of the case he had 
nothing to urge. His guilty conscience had, in 
very sooth, made an arrant coward of him, and 
he knew it. 

“ It’s easy enough for you to talk like that,” 
he rejoined sullenly, “ Your skin was in no 
danger. I had to think of myself. Anyhow, 
even you will admit that, as Morley Griffin is 
about to receive a Free Pardon, England is no 
place for me to remain in.” 

“ If you have frightened yourself into believ- 
ing that the first use he will make of his free- 
dom will be to qualify for the gallows by taking 
your life,” said Mrs. Nesbitt, quietly, “then I 
suppose you had better go abroad for a time. 
I do not need your help to fight out the penalty- 
clause in the Will ; and I’m not afraid of this 
slayer of cannibals, I assure you.” 

“Fight the Will?” echoed Darrell. “You 


184 


2)artmoot. 


must be mad ! The Free Pardon revokes the 
sentence of Penal Servitude.” 

“Nothing of the sort,” replied Mrs. Nesbitt. 
“ He is about to be released as an act of grace 
for saving a girl’s life at the risk of his own. 
The original conviction still stands on record 
against him, and disqualifies him under his 
uncle’s Will. His lawyers may cause delays, 
but I imist win in the end. That part of the 
scheme holds good still, at all events. You 
have already robbed him of the doll-faced girl 
he wished to marry. He has served two years 
of his sentence, and, as I understood from you, 
under circumstances of exceptional severity. 
But for your absurd personal dread of the man, 
I cannot see that you have any cause to com- 
plain that the game has been lost, as you did 
just now.” 

Despite the irritating, dominant accent of 
thinly- veiled contempt in the old nurse’s voice, 
Darrell found comfort in her words. 

“ Yes,” he assented savagely, and again 
applying himself to the bottle ; “ as you say, 
nothing can ever undo the degradation of the 
sentence, nor the two years of misery he has 
undergone. And I’ve had an eight months’ 
leave of his pretty popinjay. . . . Ha ! ha ! . 
. . Nothing can ever undo that fact either. . 
. . Ha! ha! . , . It was pleasant enough 
whilst it lasted. ...” 

“ What do you mean. Master Hugh ? ” asked 


Kbc /iReasure of Umaiut^ is ^fillet). 185 


Mrs. Nesbitt. “ Have you and your wife 
quarrelled already ? ” 

“Just so,” assented Darrell, nodding his 
head with tipsy emphasis. “ She bolted more 
than a week ago, and has returned to her 
mother at Naples.” 

“ That marriage was a blunder,” remarked 
the nurse, “ especially as you allowed the girl’s 
money to be tied up and settled upon herself.” 

“So it was. Nurse,” said Darrell, “ from a 
business point of view. But I wanted her, — 
partly to spite Griffin, and partly because she 
struck my fancy more than any girl I ever 
knew. But psha ! after all, women are very 
much alike, and I was getting tired of her. 
Won’t the old lady be wild.? She has sent 
over a special messenger to hunt me up already. 

. . . Deuced good whiskey this, Martha. 
Where do you get it ? ” 

“ Don’t take any more. Master Hugh,” 
pleaded Mrs. Nesbitt. “ Try and eat a bit of 
supper.” 

Darrell consented to the supper, but imme- 
diately afterwards reverted to the whisky, and 
broached the topic uppermost in his mind. 

“You agreed with me. Nurse,” he began, 
“ that it will be better for me to go abroad for 
a time.” 

“ I said, if you cannot conquer your unrea- 
sonable dread of Morley Griffin,” corrected 
Mrs, Nesbitt, drily. 


i86 


S)artmoor. 


“ Well, I can’t, and that’s the fact,” pursued 
Darrell. “ So we will start upon the assump- 
tion that I am going abroad.” 

The old woman pursed her lips, foreseeing 
what was to follow. 

“ The question is,” he went on, speaking 
slowly and thickly, “ what am I to live upon 
when I get there ? I have no money — or next 
to none.” 

“ Then you must have been spending at a 
ruinous rate ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Nesbitt, angrily. 
“ And I’ll tell you candidly. Master Hugh, that 
I cannot afford to help you much further. 
Even as it is, I am hard pushed for capital to 
carry on my business; and the expenses of 
that Will case have been heavy. When I win 
that, I shall be in a position to assist you to 
make a fresh start ; but, until then, I can do 
but little. I never can make you out. Over 
and over again I have helped you, and you 
always appeared to make good use of my help, 
and to earn or win large sums of money. Yet 
you as invariably break down at intervals, and 
gome to me for fresh supplies. I have never 
complained, because you are the only living 
being I love. But the plain English of the 
matter is that whereas, but for these continual 
drains of yours, I should now be a fairly rich 
woman, I am in reality not worth ;i^io,ooo — a 
sum you could easily dissipate in a couple of 
years.” 


Zbc /Ifteasurc of Ifniquit^ is dfillcD. 


“ Not I ! ” interrupted Darrell, eagerly. 
“ With half that sum in hand, I see my way to 
making a huge fortune.” 


B 

i88 Dartmoor. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE VENDETTA. 

Onward through the cold, wet October 
night stumbled Hugh Darrell, he knew not 
how, he scarce knew whither, until he reached 
the Borough. Then, like some hunted and 
exhausted wild beast, he cast around for some 
asylum wherein he might secure shelter and 
warmth. The exertion of his rapid flight had 
almost sobered him, and, now that the first 
shock of horror was past, he began vaguely to 
realize the terrible position in which he stood. 
He could not yet clearly remember all the 
events of the night, but he knew that he had 
committed murder and that the penalty of 
murder is death at the hangman’s , hands. He 
must strive to think, to recall exactly what had 
happened ; and then he would be able to de- 
vise some plan whereby he might save himself. 
But, first of all, he must have rest, and warmth, 
and something to allay the burning in his 
throat. He looked at his watch by the light of a 
street lamp. It was ten minutes to three. 
Hard-by, two huge wagons, laden apparently 
with market-produce, were drawn up outside 


^Tbe Dcnbetta. 


189 


some sort of night coffee-house, — on their way 
doubtless to Covent Garden. After hesitating 
a little, he entered the place. 

Half-a-dozen men of bucolic appearance were 
seated at a long, dirty table, drinking coffee 
and eating. They looked curiously at the wet, 
mud-bespattered, but withal well-dressed new- 
comer, set him down probably as some belated 
“ swell,” and went on with their meal. Darrell 
ordered some coffee also (as there appeared to 
be nothing else to drink), and sat down at a 
corner remote from the others. The warmth 
of the room and the coffee revived him ; his 
thoughts began to piece themselves together 
more intelligibly. He had a second cup, and 
yet a third, maturing his plans the while ; and 
then he decided what he should do. 

“ It is no use my running m/ neck into a 
noose, because I unluckily choked the old 
woman a little too long,” he muttered to him- 
self. “ And as for her being my mother, I 
simply don’t and won’t believe it. How was I 
to guess it, anyhow, even if she were .^ . . . A 
nice mother, indeed ! Fobbing me off with a 
beggarly £ 2,0 a month ! . . . What a fatal 
blunder I committed in deserting the cottage 
after the — the accident ! That infernal whisky 
must have driven me crazy. ... I ought to 
have made it appear (an easy job enough) as 
though burglars had broken in, and then have 
gone quietly to bed again. . . . Too late now. 


190 ^ 2 )artmoor. 

. . . I couldn’t get in without arousing deaf-old 
Judith, and, even then, her suspicions would be 
excited. . . . What if I go back and . . . silence 
her suspicions and her evidence } A bold 
policy is often the best. ... No ! I daren’t 
risk it. The alarm may already be given, and 1 
should be walking into the hangman’s hands. 

. . . I’ll go to Aaronson and tell him what has 
happened. He dare not betray me, and will help 
me to disguise myself and slip out of the coun- 
try. . . . Yes, that is my best plan.” 

Darrell paid for his coffee, pulled his hat well 
down over his eyes, and walked on towards 
London Bridge, wdiere he hoped to find a cab. 
He did so, and drove to Ludgate Hill. There 
he dismissed the vehicle, and presently took 
another. He thus changed his drivers half-a- 
dozen times,* and, taking circuitous routes, was 
finally deposited, within half-a-mile of Aaron- 
son’s house, at six o’clock. 

The Camden Town folk are early risers, and 
a girl was sweeping the door-step when Darrell 
reached his destination. She recognized him as 
a previous visitor of Mr. “ Moss,” and, rewarded 
with a shilling, allowed Darrell to make his way 
to that lodger’s rooms, where, in response to a 
vigorous summons, the Jew presently made his 
appearance clad in an extremely dirty old 
dressing-gown. Darrell pushed him into the 
sitting-room, followed him, and locked the 
door. 


Zbc Den^etta* 


191 

‘‘ Sit down,” he said. “ Listen to me atten- 
tively, and, above all, don’t raise your voice.” 
And then he narrated what had occurred, 
harping somewhat upon the accidental nature 
of the old woman’s death, and suppressing the 
fact of his relationship to her. As Jic told the 
story, it did not sound particularly atrocious. 
Hut the fact remained that, accidentally or not, 
he had killed Martha Nesbitt, and the Jew 
turned livid with fear. 

“It’s murder!” he croaked, in a hoarse 
whisper, “ Say what you will, Mr. Darrell, it’s 
murder in the eyes of. the Law, and now you 
come here to make me an accessory after the 
fact ! Why tell me anything about it ? Why 
force me to choose between being your accom- 
plice or giving you away } ” 

“ Because I need your assistance,” answered 
Darrell, coolly, “and because you dare not 
‘give me away.’ Listen, Aaronson. As I told 
you before, you and I are in the same boat, 
and, if I go down, I shall drag you down with 
me. You might, it is true, go straight to a 
police-station • and betray me. That would 
mean the rope for me to a dead certainty ; the 
case is absolutely clear against me. But what 
would it mean for you } Think a moment. 
Who edged me on to the commission of the 
crime by telling me of ^^5,000 worth of title- 
deeds in the safe, and who offered to buy them } 
You : ” 


192 


Dartmoor. 


“ Yes,” panted the Jew, “ I said I would ad 
vance ;^5,ooo if you could persuade Mrs. Nes- 
bitt to part with them.” 

“ Persuade ! ” echoed Darrell, mockingly. 
“ And what construction, think you, would a 
jury place upon the word ‘ persuade ’ coming 
from your mouth } But, apart from this, how 
would you get away from the proofs, which I 
could and would supply, that you financed the 
conspiracy that sent Morley Griffin, an innocent 
man, to seven years’ Penal Servitude ? That 
would mean ten or fifteen years, my poor Jacob, 
even if you escaped hanging for the other af- 
fair ! ” 

Aaronson groaned aloud. It was even as 
Darrell said. Against the charge of conspiracy, 
supported by proofs, no defence would be pos- 
sible. 

“ Now,” continued Darrell, noting the im- 
pression his words had produced, “I’ll act 
squarely by you, if you do the same by me. 
Help me to secure a good disguise (you must 
know dozens of your tribe in that line of busi- 
ness) and to get abroad, and my lips are sealed 
for ever about the Grififin affair.” 

“ But suppose you are caught in spite of the 
disguise } ” urged the Jew, tremulously. 

“ That will be no fault of yours, if you do 
your best,” answered Darrell. “ I should still 
feel grateful, instead of vindictive, towards you, 
and could have no earthly purpose to serve in 


^be IDenbctta. 


193 


sacrificing you to my mortal enemy, Morley 
Griffin. Can’t you see that for yourself? ” 

Well knowing Darrell’s bitter hatred of 
Griffin, Aaronson felt tolerably sure the former 
meant what he said ; and he finally consented 
to supply him with all that he needed in the 
way of disguise. 

“Then you had better lose no time about it,” 
rejoined Darrell. “ The police are bound to be 
on the move within an hour or two, even if 
that confounded old hag, Judith, has not given 
the alarm already. I shall try and get across 
to Jersey to-night from Weymouth, — they’ll 
hardly think of looking for me there. Get me 
some lotion that will color my skin a dark 
brown, some black dye for my hair, and a well- 
made black beard with moustaches. For 
clothes I shall need a baggy, old serge suit, a 
broad-brim med soft hat, flannel shirt, blue 
muffler, canvas shoes, and an old reefing-jacket. 
Stuff a few shirts and other things of the sort 
into a well-worn carpet-bag. I shall wait here 
till you come back. By the way, leave me 
some cigars and whisky. I find I can’t knock 
off the accursed stuff all at once. I’ll pay for 
everything when you return.” 

Comforting himself with the reflection that the 
sooner he complied with his unwelcome guest’s 
instructions, the more quickly he would get him 
off his hands, Aaronson hastily swallowed a 
meagre breakfast and started citywards. 


194 


5)artmoor. 


4 ^ 


He had no difficulty in procuring the various 
articles enumerated by Darrell, though he was 
careful to buy them at a number of different 
shops, and, as it was still early, bethought him 
of paying a flying- visit to his own office to see 
how matters were progressing in his absence. 
He found his clerk, Isaac, vainly endeavoring 
to understand, or to make himself understood 
by, a black-eyed young foreigner of Italian 
appearance. 

“ I can’t make out what he says at all, sir,” 
explained Isaac. “ He came here just now 
with a note from the landlord at Mr. Darrell’s 
old rooms asking us to give Bearer that gentle- 
man’s address, as he is unable to call there this 
afternoon. I told him I didn’t know Mr. 
Darrell’s whereabouts, but he can’t understand 
me, and he won’t go away.” 

Mr. Aaronson’s knowledge of Italian was 
very limited, but he contrived to make the 
visitor understand that, if he had any letter or 
message for Mr. Darrell, he would undertake 
to deliver it. Whereat the Italian waxed very 
angry, shook his head impatiently several times, 
and departed, scowling fiercely at them both. 

“ The Hon. Mr. Dyver has called twice to 
see you,” remarked Isaac, “ He refused to 
state the nature of his business, but bade me 
let you know that it concerned Mr. Morley 
Griffin and your own best interests.” 

The Jew’s alarms for his personal safety at 


y 


IDenDetta. 


195 


once revived. Terhaps Mr.- Dyver, aware of 
his friend’s murderous intentions, sought to 
save him from the consequences of his own 
vindictiveness by putting his intended victim on 
his guard. Was it not even possible that the 
gentleman was empowered to come to terms ? 

“ Isaac,” he said, eagerly, “ you must seek 
out Mr. Dyver and tell him that, if he will give 
his word of honor to come alone, I will meet 
him here to-morrow at three o’clock. Tele- 
graph me his reply, but on no account give my 
address to anj/ one, you understand ” 

“ Very well, sir. I’ll find him, never fear,” 
replied the clerk, marvelling somewhat at all 
this mystery. 

Aaronson then returned to the cab, which 
had awaited him, and drove to Camden Town, 
little dreaming that the young Italian, in a 
second hansom, was close behind him all the 
way. When the Jew reached his temporary 
abode, this second cab passed swiftly by ; but 
a pair of bright, black eyes had unerringly noted 
the number of the house, and, at the next cor- 
ner, the owner of the black eyes discharged his 
driver. 

“ He is there, this Ugo Darrell ! ” he mut- 
tered. “ What is he, a fine gentleman, hiding 
in this quarter for } Can he suspect who the 
foreigner is who wishedrto see him ? Anyhow, 

I can deal with him better here, the infamous 
traditore ! He had no intention of seeing me 


96 


2)artmoor. 


to-day, as his note said. Not he ! That was 
merely to gain time. But I shall watch that 
house until he leaves it, if I have to stand about 
here all day.” 

Aaronson ordered some lunch for both ; and, 
when that was disposed of, Darrell set about 
perfecting his disguise. Speaking French re- 
markably well, he had decided to pass himself 
off as Isidore Dupre, native of Mauritius, an 
island he had twice visited and knew well. 

He had ample time before him, and spared 
no pains to make the metamorphosis complete. 
His heavy tawny moustache first disappeared. 
Next, with Aaronson's help, he applied the 
brown lotion freely and carefully to the whole 
of his body, until he was of a genuine creole 
color. His brown hair was ne.xt transformed 
into jet black, as were also his eyebrows. Blue 
eyes are not infrequently seen amongst creoles, 
and he moreover practised a habit of keeping 
them half-closed, which rendered them incon- 
spicuous, — disdaining colored glasses as tend- 
ing to excite observation. He then put on the 
loose, misfitting, old suit and a still older reef- 
ing-jacket, — which, with the addition of muffler, 
beard, and soft hat, completed the disguise. 

“You’ll do!” exclaimed Aaronson, confi- 
dently, when the last finishing touches had been 
added. “No one living would recognize you. 
I couldn’t have believed it possible ! ” 

“Yes,” assented Darrell, scanning himself 


tTbc Dcnbetta, 


197 


critically, “ I think Monsieur Isidore Dupre will 
pass muster. I don’t feel nervous about the 
result, anyhow.” 

Darkness soon sets in at the end of October, 
and, as though to favor his chances, a thick 
mist had fallen. Darrell decided upon catch- 
ing the 5 p. M. Express from Waterloo, and, 
preceded by Aaronson to make sure that his 
exit would not be noticed, seized his carpet-bag 
and sallied forth, shortly after four o'clock, in 
search of a cab. 

The Italian had meanwhile remained unflinch- 
ingly at his post. When Aaronson emerged, 
shortly afterwards followed by a strangely- 
attired man carrying a bag, he walked swiftly 
by them to get a view of their faces as they 
passed a street-lamp, whilst he himself crouched 
in the shadow of a doorway. Aaronson he 
recognized, but who was his companion ? He 
was utterly unlike the Senor Ugo Darrell, whom 
he had often seen at Naples, and looked like a 
Spaniard or a Mexican. Could it be that he 
had disguised himself? He followed them 
stealthily, resolving to get a nearer view by the 
glare of a public-house at the corner. There, 
there chanced to be a disengaged cab, which 
Darrell promptly secured ; and, as he looked up 
at the driver to give his order, “Waterloo 
Station,” the Italian got a fair view of his 
steely, blue eyes, and instantly recognized him 
as the man he sought. 


i)artmoor. 


198 

Aaronson at once retraced his steps, the cab 
drove off, and the Italian started in pursuit on 
foot. For nearly a mile he ran at his best pace 
(for the horse was a good one), until his breath 
came in gasps and his heart thumped against 
his ribs. Yet if he paused to hail another cab, 
he knew that the one he was following would 
at once be lost in the mist ; and so, breathless, 
well-nigh spent, he raced onwards. Just as he 
was upon the point of falling, through sheer 
exhaustion, the cab suddenly stopped : a ’bus- 
horse had fallen and caused a block in the 
traffic. Quick to profit by this delay, the Italian 
placed five shillings in the hands of another 
cabman and intimated by signs that he was to 
keep close behind Darrell’s. The driver 
nodded, in token that he understood, and both 
vehicles were soon under way again. 

At Waterloo, Darrell jumped out, paid his 
fare, and hurried to the booking-office ; the 
Italian followed close upon his heels, and lis- 
tening keenly to catch his destination. 

“ Vey mouthy tird single,” said Darrell, in a 
well-imitated foreign accent. 

These words his pursuer kept on repeating to 
himself until his turn arrived. “ Veymoiith, 
tird single,” he also demanded, and received his 
ticket. He now felt easy in his mind. Darrell 
was certainly going to “ V eymouth,” and so 
was he. Very well ; they would travel in the 
same carriage. He soon discovered Darrell’s 


XTbe IDcnbetta, 


199 


compartment, and secured a seat himself in an 
opposite corner. Ere the train started three 
more passengers got in, and soon began dis- 
cussing the “ Clapham Murder,” with accounts 
of which all the evening papers were full. 

“ It’s a clear case against this Darrell,” re- 
marked one. “ The old servant's evidence is 
conclusive.” 

“Yes,” assented another. “And they say a 
letter was found proving that the murdered 
woman was his own mother ! ” 

“ Horrible ! ” added the third newcomer. ‘‘ It 
is some comfort' to think that the police have 
■a strong clue to the monster’s whereabouts.” 

“Tickets, gentlemen, please,” said a keen- 
eyed inspector, entering the compartment, 
bull’s eye lantern in hand. The scrutiny was 
satisfactory, and he withdrew. 

“ Do you know who that was ? ” asked pas- 
senger No. I, eagerly. 

“ No ! ” replied the others. “ Who was it ? ” 

“ Sam Sharpett of Scotland Yard ! I know 
him quite well by sight ; often see him. I’ll 
wager there’s a detective watching every train 
that will leave London until they collar that 
fellow Darrell. Cute idea, dressing up as a 
ticket-inspector, ain’t it ? ” 

“ Very,” assented his companions, as the 
train moved out of the station. 

“Cuter than the man himself,” thought Dar- 
rell. “ Come ! If I can pass muster with a 


±00 


Dartmoor. 


Scotland Yard detective, who is on the look-out 
for me, I have nothing to fear. . . . That 

Italian-looking fellow over in the corner is eye- 
ing me rather queerly. Where have I seen 
some one something like him before ? Can’t 
fix him in my memory. Fancy, I daresay. . 

. . I’m dog-tired. . . . The money is 

all right, next my skin. . . . I’ll sleep out 

this journey. . . . Let me see, Jersey to- 

morrow. Then across to St. Malo. From 
there to Havre, and then a French steamer to 
New York. That’s the programme. 

One by one the three passengers left the 
train during the long journey, until at length 
the Italian was alone with the sleeping man in 
the compartment. 

‘'Diavolo!" muttered the former. “If I 
were but quite certain he is the man, how 
quickly would my poor Teresa be avenged ! 
. . . I am almost sure ’tis he ; but I must 

make quite sure before I strike ! . . . This 

train stops seldom. I have time for my pur- 
pose.” 

He drew a length of thick, strong cord from 
his pocket, made a running-noose, and into this 
he cautiously passed both his intended victim’s 
hands. Then with a swift jerk he tightened 
the noose, rapidly wound the remainder of the 
cord round both wrists, and securely knotted 
the whole ere Darrell was fairly awake. 


Zbc IDenDetta* 


201 


“ A single cry,” hissed his captor in his ear, 
producing a poniard as he spoke, “and I shall 
bury this in your heart.” 

“ What would you do, man ? ” gasped Darrell, 
in such Italian as he could muster. “ Rob 
me.^ ” 

“ No, Sehor Ugo Darrell,” answered the Ital- 
ian, keenly watching the other’s face, as the 
name slowly fell from his lips ; “ I am not a 
ladrone." 

“ Then you would betray me to the police ! ” 
exclaimed Darrell, fully convinced that his dis- 
guise had been penetrated. “ But see ! I will 
p ly you well to hold your tongue, whoever you 
are ! ” 

“ Then ^oxiare Ugo Darrell,” was the reply, 
“and I was right. Now shall I tell you who I 
am } I am Marco Gaoli, the betrothed lover 
of Teresa Varoni whom you outraged in the 
woods, and drove to suicide in the lake, at 
Mori ! ” 

“ As God is my judge,” protested Darrell, 
desperately, “ this is the first I have heard of 
her death ! ” 

“ Perhaps so,” rejoined Marco Gaoli, grimly ; 
“ for did you not almost immediately after- 
wards marry your English love and go away ? 
What recked you of the fate of the little confa- 
dina you had ruined ? But it all came out later 
on — the priest himself cursed you from the al- 
tar. And I swore that so soon as I could 


202 


S)artmoor» 


scrape together the means, with help from 
Teresa’s father, I would hunt you down and 
kill you ! I have hunted you down, and now say 
a prayer, if (heretic traditore that you are !) you 
know one, for you are about to die ! ” 

With the desperation begotten of despair, 
Hugh Darrell made a frantic effort to burst his 
bonds. The Italian’s left hand choked the 
shriek that he tried to utter, and then, thrice 
in swift succession, the murderous steel was 
plunged into his breast. . . 

When the train reached Weymouth the offi- 
cials were horrified to discover, in a third-class 
compartment, the body of a poorly-dressed, 
dark-skinned foreigner, in whose heart the blade 
of a dagger still remained. To the handle of 
the same weapon was attached a slip of paper 
bearing this legend, badly written in pencil : 

“ La vendetta del padre i del proinesso sposo 
di Teresa Varoni sul traditore Ugo Dar- 
rell— M. G.” 


^be ibon. JSob :©e0tic6 Ibimsclt 203 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE HON. BOB BESTIRS HIMSELF. 

The Hon. Robert Dyver and his friend, 
Captain Heavysides, chanced to be at Monaco 
when Morley Griffin effected his escape, and 
their first intimation of the event came through 
a paragraph in a belated English newspaper. 

“ Hurrah, Dick ! ” cried Dyver, greatly ex- 
cited by the news. “ Poor old Morley has 
given them the slip at last. Read this para- 
graph ! ” 

Heavysides eagerly scanned the lines. 

“ Splendidly done, by Jove ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ But I say. Bob, it’s long odds against his 
evading recapture, you know. What a pity we 
weren’t about to give him a helping hand, as 
we tried to before.” 

“ Can’t be helped ! ” rejoined his friend. 
“ At least we can hasten back .and see if we 
can’t help him now. The first thing the poor 
boy will do will be to communicate with one of 
us at the club. I’d wager there’s a letter or 
message of some sort awaiting us there now 
— that is, if he hasn’t meanwhile been retaken. 


2)artmoor. 


204. 

We’re off home, Dick, by the first train. 
Walters ! pack up, like greased lightning ! ” 

“ I’m with you, of course, Dick,” assented the 
dragoon. And, within an hour, they were eu 
route, anathematizing the slowness of Conti- 
nental expresses. 

The Hon. Bob’s prediction was fulfilled. At 
the club he found Morley’s letter, which Grad- 
well had posted, awaiting him. 

“ I say, Dick, read that ! ” exclaimed Dyver. 
“ Why, what’s the matter with you } ” 

He might well ask ; for the big dragoon, 
usually as quiet in his movements as befitted a 
man of his avoirdupois, was executing an ele- 
phantine pas-seul, within the sedate precincts 
of the club smoking-room, and waving an 
Eve7iing Standard triumphantly over his head. 

“ Read what } ” he answered, breathlessly, 
“Just you read this, Bob! And when you’ve 
read it, we’ll paste it up for all the other fellows 
to read.” 

Amazed at his extraordinary behavior, a 
small group of members gathered laughingly 
round the speaker. 

“ Read it out loud. Bob ! ” he insisted. And 
thus adjured, Dyver gave voice to a thrilling 
description of Morley Griffin’s encounter with 
The Wolf. 

“Bravo!” . . . “Well done!” . . . “Bravo, 
Morley ! ” resounded on all sides ; for Griffin 
had been a general favorite. 


Zbc 1bon. :©ob JBeatira tblmselt 205 


“ That means a Free Pardon, sure enough ! ” 
remarked one member who, upon the strength 
of having eaten a great many Inner Temple 
dinners twenty years ago, claimed to be some- 
thing of a legal authority. 

“ A -Free Pardon, indeed,” exclaimed the 
Hon. Bob, “ I should rather think so ! And 
I’ll give those chaps at the Home Office no 
rest until it is signed, sealed and delivered. 
Tell you what it is, Dick, we’ll just send old 
Morley a couple of cheering telegrams, have a 
dig at the Home Office, and wind up by a 
little dinner to celebrate the occasion.” 

And all of these things were done, even as 
the Hon. Bob had suggested. 

But Home Secretaries do not move in such 
matters with any remarkable celerity. All that 
even Lord Frappingham, goaded thereto by 
his son and heir, could extract from the Minis- 
ter was an assurance that the case was one 
apparently justifying the exercise of the Royal 
prerogative, and that steps would duly be 
taken in this direction. 

“ Confound their Red Tape delays ! ” grum- 
bled Dyver. 

“Amen!” responded Heavysides. “But I 
say, you know Morley’s laid up in hospital, and 
I daresay they’re looking after him all right. 
By the tinie he’s fit to get about he’ll be a free 
man.” 

“ That’s true, old fellow,” assented Dyver. 


2o6 


2)artmoor. 


“ What worries me most of all is, that this 
Pardon won’t wipe away the stain of the con- 
viction ; that’s the affair I want to see cleared 
lip. Now, I believe old Aaronson was some- 
how in the swim with Darrell, and, if so, he 
might be persuaded or frightened into owning 
up, in view of Griffin’s approaching release. 
I shall hunt him up ! ” 

His efforts to find the Jew were unsuccess- 
ful : but, the very next day, Isaac delivered his 
master’s message. 

“Tell him I shall be there to-morrow at 
three,” replied Dyver, “ and that I shall be 
alone.” 

That same evening, the papers contained ex- 
haustive descriptions of the Clapham Murder, 
of old Judith’s statements, and of Hugh Darrell’s 
patent guilt and flight. Dyver, much as he 
disliked the man, was fairly overwhelmed with 
horror and amazement. 

“ An unprincipled scoundrel,” he muttered, 
“ I’ve long believed him to be ; but — a mur- 
derer ! and, as it would seem, fhe murderer of 

his own mother ugh ! The thing is too 

ghastly to think about.” . 

The terrible drama was rounded off the -fol- 
lowing morning by the publication of the dis- 
covery made at Weymouth railway station. 
But for the slip of paper attached to the poniard, 
the identity of the murdered man with the 
missing Hugh Darrell might never have been 


Zbc Ibon. :ft 3 ob :fi3e6tir0 Ibimeelf. 207 


suspected, despite the proofs of disguise. But 
Marco Paoli’s memorandum gave a clue which 
the police had no difficulty in following. Be- 
yond all doubt the assassinated occupant of the 
third-class compartment and the Clapham mur- 
derer were one and the same man. Well 
might seriously minded editors remark that 
rarely in the annals of evil-doing had so fiend- 
ish a crime been punished by such swift retribu- 
tion. 

Dyver found Aaronson in a state of terrible 
mental agitation. The news of Darrell’s fate 
appeared to have completely crushed him. 
The fact was that his extreme dread of Mor- 
ley Griffin’s vengeance had begotten a convic- 
tion in his mind that the initials M. G. at the end 
of the assassin’s message meant Morley Grif- 
fin, and none other. The references to some 
girl and her father were, he believed, merely a 
blind to throw the police off the scent. True, 
Griffin himself had not struck the blow, since 
he was still at Dartmoor ; but he had clearly 
contrived to hire some ruffian to slay Hugh 
Darrell — an Italian bravo possibly, since the 
words were written in that tongue. Nay, per- 
haps, the very man who had been so anxious to 
find out Darrell’s whereabouts. 

Yes, that would explain all. He, Aaronson, 
had been followed to Camden Town, whence 
Darrell, despite his disguise, had been shadowed 
to his doom. His own turn might be expected to 


2o8 


2)artmoor, 


come next, unless indeed Morley Griftin should 
be induced to spare him through Mr. Dyver’s 
mediation. It will therefore be seen that the 
Hon. Bob could not possibly have found his 
man in a more amenable frame of mind ; and 
the Jew’s evident distress induced him to take 
a very high hand. 

“ So, Mr. Aaronson,” he began, sternly, “ I 
see that your confederate, Hugh Darrell, has 
cheated the hangman.” 

“ For God’s sake, don’t call him my confed- 
erate, sir ! ” whined Aaronson. “ He planned 
the whole affair himself.” 

“ VVe have only your word for that assertion,” 
retorted Dyver ; “ but, anyhow, you helped 

him in his rascally plot to ruin Griffin, I’m quite 
sure of that. And the best thing you can do is 
to own up — lest worse befall you.” 

“ What can I do ? What can I do } ” moaned 
the Jew, beating his breast Hebrew-fashiori in 
his despair. “ If I tell all I know, I shall be 
prosecuted and ruined. If I remain silent, I 
shall be . . . murdered, as he was ! ” 

A new light broke in upon Dyver. Aaron- 
son evidently believed that Darrell had been 
assassinated at Griffin’s instigation, and that he 
himself stood in imminent danger of a similar 
fate. He smiled contemptuously at the idea 
of his friend avenging his wrongs in such 
cowardly fashion ; but he resolved to take the 
utmost advantage of the Jew’s fears. 


Ibon. :Bob JBestire Ibimself. 209 


“ And what better fate would you deserve,” 
he demanded angrily, “ if you allow an inno- 
cent man, who has suffered so much already 
through you and your accomplice, to remain 
under the stigma of a disgraceful crime ? Boil- 
ing in oil would be too good for you ! ” 

“ Don’t be so hard on me, Mr. Dyver,” 
pleaded Aaronson. “ What would you have 
me to do ? ” 

“ Exonerate Morley Griffin from the foul 
charge he was convicted upon,” was the prompt 
reply. “ Furnish me with proofs that he was 
the victim of a vile plot.” 

“ If I do my best to clear him,” rejoined 
Aaronson, “ will you undertake that he will not 
seek to ... to . . . harm me ? ” 

“Yes,” said Dyver, after a studied pause, “ I 
will promise you that.” 

Aaronson gave a deep sigh of relief. Mr. 
Dyver, as Griffin’s representative, had con- 
sented to come to terms, and this was almost 
more than he had dared to hope for. 

“ I have a letter from Mr. Darrell,” he went 
on to say, “ notifying me that Mr. Griffin would 
call upon me for the purpose of discounting an 
acceptance, post-dated three days, for ^86i 
los. ” 

“ What is the date of that letter ? ” inter- 
rupted Dyver. 

“ Friday, August — th,” said Aaronson, hesi- 
tatingly. 


210 


Dartmoor. 


“Go on,” rejoined Dyver, referring to a 
memorandum book. 

“ He also requested me,” continued the Jew, 
“ to discount this acceptance, notwithstanding 
the post-dating. I did so, the following day.” 

“ You consummate old villain ! ” exclaimed 
Dyver, fiercely. “ And you suppressed this 
letter at the trial, well knowing that it would 
have neutralized Darrell’s contention that he 
was abroad upon the date borne by the bill ! ” 

“ I was never asked about it,” stammered 
Aaronson, feebly. 

“ Asked, you old scoundrel ! ” cried Dyver. 
“Had you not been . Darrell’s accomplice, you 
would have produced it in Court. Give me 
that letter.” 

Aaronson hesitated. He hoped to make 
better terms for himself. Dyver guaranteed 
his life, but what guarantee had he that he 
would not be prosecuted ? Dyver divined this. 

“ See here,” he said, gripping the old man by 
the wrist, “ I have made a memorandum of 
your statement, to which I will swear upon 
oath. And, what is more, I shall at once give 
you into custody and have every paper in this 
office placed under seal, unless you forthwith 
produce that letter.” 

This threat produced the desired effect. 
With trembling hands Aaronson opened a 
drawer in his safe and, after some fumbling, 
found the letter, which he handed to Dyver. 


Zbc Ibon. JBob JBestirs Ibimeelf. 21 1 


“Trick number one,” remarked the latter, 
placing it in his pocket-book. “ What else 
have you got ? ” 

“I have . . . the acceptance itself,” said the 
Jew. 

“ What use would that be ? ” asked Dyver. 

“Well,” explained Aaronson, “you see, Dar- 
rell swore positively the acceptance was a 
clumsy forgery of his handwriting, and the ex- 
perts couldn’t agree. Now I, who knew his 
writing well, was so well satisfied of its gen- 
uineness that I discounted the bill. Mr. Griffin’s 
lawyer missed that point altogether — never even 
asked my opinion. If I swear that I am still 
convinced it was genuine, and produce other 
specimens of his handwriting similar to it, 
would not that help your case ? ” 

“Yes,” assented Dyver, “it would. But 
there is one thing more. Did not Darrell repay 
you the money you advanced Griffin ? Come ! 
No prevarication ! . . . Yes or no ” 

“Y . . . es,” reluctantly admitted the old 
man, “ he did.” 

“ Then sit down and write me a clear state- 
ment of all these facts,” commanded Dyver, 
“ and we’ll have it sworn to before a Commis- 
sioner for Affidavits. Give me also the accept- 
ance and the specimens of similarly disguised 
handwriting ; and I think you may congratulate 
yourself upon escaping so lightly. Griffin will 
not prosecute.” 


I 


212 


2)artmoor. 


“But what about the Treasury?” urged 
Aaronson. “ It might be deemed a case for the 
Public Prosecutor.” 

“ So it ought to be,” was the rejoinder ; “ but 
I think I have sufficient influence to prevent 
that if you do your part thoroughly and estab- 
lish Griffin’s innocence. At all events you must 
run the risk. Refuse, and you shall leave this 
room in custody.” 

With many groans, Aaronson did as he was 
bidden. In his secret soul he was well pleased, 
well knowing that, if Griffin declined to prose- 
cute, he was tolerably safe. But outwardly he 
seemed crushed by the severity of the condi- 
tions imposed. It took considerable time and 
wasted much paper, before Dyver expressed 
himself as satisfied with the wording of the 
document; and then it had to be read over, 
sworn to, and signed by Aaronson in the pres- 
ence of a Commissioner. But at length all was 
settled, and Dyver hastened to transmit his 
proofs of Morley’s innocence to the Home 
Secretary. 

That same night, Aaronson, after a lengthy 
consultation with an astute lawyer of his tribe, 
decided upon crossing over to Ostend (in case 
the Public Prosecutor should, for once in a way, 
bestir himself) until the affair should have 
blown over. He was just in time to catch the 
steamer Tretiton, and was not amongst the 
eight passengers saved after that ill-fated 


4 ' 


XLbc 1bon. Mcetixe Ibimself, 213 


vessel had been run into and sunk by the 
German s. s. Rosenkranz. He left neither will 
nor heirs. And it may be assumed that neither 
the Chancellor of the Exchequer, nor his 
numerous debtors, much bewailed his loss. 

The documents secured by Dyver would, of 
themselves, probably have sufficed to convince 
any reasonable Home Secretary of Morley 
Griffin’s innocence. But additional and stronger 
proof was forthcoming. The police naturally 
took charge of the contents of Laburnum 
Cottage, pending the discovery of Martha 
Nesbitt’s heir-at-law ; and, amongst the dead 
woman’s correspondence, were found several 
letters from Hugh Darrell, referring explicitly to 
his schemes to ruin Griffin and to their trium- 
phant issue. 

In the face of such overwhelming evidence, 
even the Home Office felt itself called upon 
to postpone perusal of the newspaper and 
bestir itself. The strain upon the Department 
was unprecedented, and several permanent 
officials were late for lunch at their clubs ; but 
the outcome was that Morley Griffin, in addi- 
tion to a Free Pardon for saving Myra Grad- 
well’s life, received a second Free Pardon for — 
a crime, it was now proved, ne had never com- 
mitted ! Justice may occasionally make a 
mistake ; but it never apologizes. 


214 


2)artmoot, 


CHAPTER XVllI. 

JUSTICE AT LAST. 

Although still officially known as convict 
Z 754 and a prisoner in the gaol-infirmary, 
Morley Griffin had very pleasant dreams the 
night of his recapture. Had not the governor, 

Major S , himself, so far unbended from his 

habitual stiffness as to compliment him upon 
his prowess and to predict his forthcoming 
liberation ? Had not the chaplain congratu- 
lated hirn ? And had not the doctor applied 
bandages and lotion to his injured ankle with 
his own hands ? Therefore Morley slept peace- 
fully and dreamt of Myra. Whereas (if the 
truth be told) poor Myra could not sleep at all, 
at the cottage, — thinking of him. 

The following day he received two telegrams 
(true, they had been opened officially, but what 
did that matter.^), and the Chief Warder smiled 
meaningly as he handed them to him. They 
ran as follows : 

First heard of escape at Monaco, and 
hastened back to visit West. I have just read 
about your encottnier with Wolf yesterday. 


justice at Xaet. 


215 


IV/s/i I had bee7i there to see it. Must have 
been a rare set-to. Bravo, old chap / My 
hmnediate mission m life is to hatmt Home 
Secretary. Your release merely questio7i of 
Red Tape. Withm te7i days, I hofe, so keep 
your pecker tip . — R. Dyver. 

“ Ditto to all Bob says. Ca77ie with hmi 
fro77t Motiaco up07i ojf-cha7tce of bemg useful. 
Glorious 7ieivs. Club m fer77ie7tt of delight. 
Ovatio7t in preparation for you . — Heavy- 
SIDE.” 

“ Well meant,” remarked the Chief Warder, 
quietly, “ but not very discreetly worded. I 
begin to think I did well to shift you to another 
cell some time back.” 

“ Do you } ” asked Griffin innocently. “ I 
have often wondered why you did so ; but I 
suppose you had your reasons.” 

“ Yes,” assented the other, laughing, “ I had. 
And I daresay you could make a near guess at 
what those reasons were. But, you see, you 
were given away.” 

“Well, all I can say is,” rejoined Griffin, 
drily, “ that the man who would give another 
away deserves to be — say, crippled for life.” 

“ Like Jason !” suggested the Chief Warder, 
quaintly. 

“ Very like Jason,” replied Griffin; “very 
like indeed.” 

You see, one may bandy jokes with a prisoner 


2i6 


2)artmoot. 


who is a bit of a lion, and whose release is a 
foregone conclusion ! 

Major S had probably received instruc- 

tions from the Home Office to allow his recap- 
tured prisoner every possible indulgence ; for 
that same afternoon, when Walter Grad well and 
his daughter asked permission to visit him, they 
were conducted to his bedside without demur. 

Gradwell was delighted with the telegrams. 
“ It would be a real pleasure,” he protested, 
“ to shake those two gentlemen by the hand. 
Why, Mr. Griffin, you’re as good as a free man 
already. Our poor little petition, from the resi- 
dents hereabouts, won’t be needed at all, though 
I can tell you the names are pouring in like 
wild-fire ! I’d like to make a copy of these two 
wires, if you don’t mind, just to look at now 
and then and laugh over.” 

And receiving a smiling assent, Mr. Gradwell 
moved off to a distant window to execute his 
project. Did he divine that the young people 
had confidences to interchange ? Or that Myra 
would thank her deliverer with less embarrass- 
ment were he not by ? At all events, he left 
them together. 

“ Myra,” said Morley, gently; “ I have some- 
thing to ask you.” 

The girl’s beautiful brown eyes met his for a 
second, and then the long lashes veiled them. 
But long as they were, they could not cover the 
blush that rose to her cheek. 


justice at Xast. 


217 


Morley gazed at the pretty, half-shy, half- 
expectant face, and apparently drew hopeful 
augury from the scrutiny. 

“ Myra,” he said again, “ I have something 
very important to ask you. You know my 
story. You know that I was convicted of a 
disgraceful crime, of which, as God is my 
judge, I am innocent. They are, it seems, 
going to give me my freedom ; not because I 
am innocent, but because I protected you 
yesterday against The Wolf. I have yet to 
prove my innocence in the eyes of men ; and I 
believe that, once free, I shall do so — when I 
find Darrell!' 

Myra noticed how the rich, soft voice hard- 
ened, and how the bright blue eyes gleamed, 
as these last words were spoken ; but she 
remained silent. 

“ I thought, a week ago,” continued Morley, 
“that I had but one purpose in regaining my 
freedom. Now I know that I have another. 
They are about to give me back my life, Myra ; 
but I need your love to make that life worth 
living. Will you be my wife 1 " 

“ My life,” answered Myra, her soft brown 
eyes meeting his frankly, lovingly, “ I owe you 
already. My love was yours — I think, from the 
first time I heard your story. But neither my 
life nor my love can avail to make you happy, 
unless you, once and for ever, forego all inten- 
tion of revenge upon your betrayer. Do this ! 


21 


2)artmoor* 


Prove yourself as noble-minded as you are 
brave and strong, and — make me the happiest 
girl in England ! ” 

“ What you ask is hard to do, darling,” said 
her lover, “ harder than you perhaps think : for, 

I have suffered cruel wrong, and the impulse to 
retaliate is strong within me. Yet, for your 
sweet sake, I would do it were it a thousand 
times harder. I promise that I will not seek to 
avenge myself upon Hugh Darrell. But you 
must not ask me to forgive him. That I can 
not do ! ” 

A flush of pleasure lit up the bright young 
face, and the ripe, red lips, of their own accord, 
sought his. 

“ Forgiveness will come in time, my Hero ! ” 
she whispered gently. “And do you know,— 
Morley, I am selfish enough to remember that, 
had this great injustice not befallen you, I 
would never have seen you. Under Heaven, I 
owe all my happiness to Hugh Darrell ! ” 

You see, they are very simple-minded, some 
of these Devon lasses, and believe in Provi- 
dence just as theii forbears did. 

“ And he owes you his life, Myra,” her lover 
answered, gravely. “ It has long been the one 
fixed purpose of my life to hunt him down. 
However, you have my promise, and there the 
whole miserable business ends.” 

At that precise moment, Mr. Gradwell 
thought fit to announce that he had completed 


5u0tice at Xast. 


219 


his task ; nor could Morley devise any decent 
pretext for asking him to make a second copy. 

“ Your friend Mr. Dyver,” remarked Mr. 
Gradwell, “ is a credit to human nature, let 
alone to the aristocracy.” 

“ Dear old Bob!” exclaimed Morley, enthu- 
siastically. “ Won’t he be surprised when he 
learns that I have won a wife, as well as my 
freedom, by taking his advice and going into 
training ! ” 

“ Eh ? ” queried Gradwell. “ What’s that 
about a wife ? ” 

“Simply that I love Myra very dearly,” re- 
plied Morley, “ and that she loves me in 
return.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Gradwell, drily. “ That’s it, is 
it } Well, I saw what was coming, and, had I 
seen any reason to object to you as a husband 
for my girl. I’d have spoken up ere this. Take 
her, my lad. And may you both be as happy 
as I hope to see you ! ” 

And so, without further fuss, it was decided 
that the marriage should take place as soon 
after Morley ’s release, and as quietly, as possi- 
ble. 

“ That will be three weeks from the day you 
leave this place, then,” remarked Gradwell. 
“ Of course you will have to run up to London 
to see into your affairs, and I think the simplest 
way would be to have the banns put up there.” 

“ Oh, I’m quite content with the agreement 


220 


2)artmoor. 


that we are to be married as soon as possible ! ” 
rejoined Morley. “ That’s understood, isn’t it, 
Myra ? ” 

“ Yes,” assented the young girl, blushing 
prettily, “ I . . . suppose so.” 

“ The doctor tells me I shall be able to hop 
about, with the help of a stick, in a couple of 
days,” said the invalid, “ and the Governor has 
promised to let me have the run of his own 
private garden. They give me everything I 
ask for. So, you see, I have nothing to com- 
plain about as regards my treatment. But,” he 
added, with a look at Myra which deepened the 
blush on that young lady’s cheek, “ I do hope 
Bob Dyver will succeed in hurrying up the 
Home Secretary.” 

“ And I’ll go and rake in the signatures to 
our local petition ! ” cried Gradwell, energetic- 
ally. “ Come along, Myra child. We’ll be 
having the doctor down upon us for exciting 
his patient. Good-bye, my dear lad. We’ll 
come and see you every second day.” 

And, shaking Morley cordially by the hand, 
the big-hearted law-breaker discreetly turned 
his back to give the lovers opportunity for a 
parting embrace. 

The Hon. Bob did not fail to keep his incar- 
cerated friend well informed of the startling 
events which occurred during the ensuing three 
days, by an avalanche of telegrams, letters, and 
newspapers. In succession came the news of 


justice at East, 


221 


the Clapham Murder, of Darrell’s assassination, 
of Aaronson’s confession, and of the discover- 
ies made by the police amongst Martha Nesbitt’s 
correspondence. And then — two days later— 
came the crowning piece of intelligence. 

Our hero, Myra, and Gradwell were seated 
in the Governor’s garden, discussing the terri- 
ble and wondroiis things that had so suddenly 

come to pass, when Major S was seen 

advancing towards them, an open telegram in 
his hand. Now the Major was a great stickler 
for punctilio, and his first words were somewhat 
mysterious : 

“ Mr. Morley Griffin, I believe ? ” he re- 
marked, enquiringly. 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Morley, amazed at the 
question and standing at “ attention ; ” “I am 
Morley Griffin.” 

“ Then permit me to introduce myself,” re- 
joined the Major. “ I am Major S , Gov- 

ernor of H. M. Penal Establishment at 
Dartmoor. Will you kindly present your 
friends ? ” 

“ Major S , — Mr. Walter Gradwell. Miss 

Gradwell, — Major S ,” stammered Morley, 

suppressing a strong inclination to laugh. 

“ I have received a telegram from the Secre- 
tary of State for the Home Department,” con- 
tinued the Major, "concerning you, and which 
1 have great pleasure in showing to you.” 

He handed Morley the telegram as he spoke. 


Dartmoor, 


What wonder if the young giant’s hand shook, 
and if his voice trembled as he read the dis- 
patch aloud ? 

“ Major S , Governor, Dartmoor . — 

Ample proof s havmg bee7i adduced of 7ni5car- 
riage of j test ice m case of M or ley Griffin, 7iow 
i7t your charge, I have reco77i77ie7ided Her 
Majesty to gra7it u7tco7iditio7ial free pardon m 
his favor. Release hi77i at his own co7tvenience. 
— Cross, Ho7ne Secretary.^'' 

A dead silence ensued for perhaps five 
seconds ; and then, despite the presence of the 
Governor, Nature asserted her sway. Grad- 
well hurled his hat in the air with a ringing 
cheer, whilst Myra threw herself, sobbing with 
joy, into her lover’s outstretched arms. 

“ Upon my word,” remarked Major S , 

blowing his nose with apparently unnecessary 
vigor, “ I am extremely glad, Mr. Griffin, to 
make your acquaintance and . . . er . . . that 
of your friends, under such gratifying circum- 
stances. I trust you will all do me the honor 
to partake of luncheon.” 

And so it came to pass that ex-convict Z 754, 
still wearing the suit which Gradwell had given 
hirh, was that day an honored guest at the 
table of his late goaler-in-chief. The Major 
still kept up the fiction of having just met Mor- 
ley for the first time, and introduced him, with 


justice at Xa0t. 


223 


all due formality, to the chaplain, doctor, and 
other principal officials. Perhaps nothing could 
have brought home the fact more clearly to his 
mind that he was, in very sooth, his old self 
again, and that the sufferings of the past two 
years were but as memories of some hideous 
nightmare. 

Bob Dyver telegraphed that he and Heavy- 
side would arrive that afternoon to carry him 
off in triumph to London ; and when Gradwell 
departed with Myra for the cottage, they did 
not expect to see Morley again for some weeks. 
Strange to say, he appeared to be in no way 
downcast at the prospect of this lengthy sepa- 
ration from his sweetheart ; and poor Myra sub- 
sequently shed some tears in private over his 
seeming indifference. 

“ He doesn’t think so much about me now,” 
she told herself, sadly. “ Perhaps, when he 
returns to his former friends and his old life, 
he will forget me entirely.” 

Peace, silly little fluttering heart ! You little 
dream of the surprise which your love-inspired, 
artful captor has in store for you. 

Dyver and Heavyside duly arrived, were cor- 
dially welcomed by their former host. Major 

S , and, after much leave-taking of his late 

custodians, Morley accompanied them back to 
London, where the ovation foretold by the 
dragoon was in store for the returned exile. 
The twice-disappointed Walters awaited them 


224 


Dartmoor. 


at the terminus with a dogcart drawn by the 
fast-trotting mare. 

“ Glad to see you back, sir, safe and sound,” 
he said, touching his hat respectfully. “ It only 
seems like yesterday that I and the mare were 
waiting for you here, — and she fit to go for her 
life ! ” 

“The third time is the charm, you know, 
Walters,” laughed Morley, as the mare whirled 
them off to his old rooms, already prepared 
for his reception. 

That night still lingers in the memories of 
what may be termed the “ Dyver Set ” as a dis- 
tinctly wet one, — an expression, I am given to 
understand, having no reference whatever to 
the weather, but rather to the quantity of fluid 
refreshments consumed. Yet surely if ever 
occasion justified a little extra conviviality, the 
present was such an occasion. For there was 
Morley Griffin, everybody’s favorite, back — if 
not from the grave, at least from a living tomb 
— amongst his old friends, a martyr and a hero ! 
What wonder if the corks popped like volleys 
of musketry, and glasses were raised, with im- 
prudent frequency, in his honor } 

“ Never felt inclined for soda-water down at 
Dartmoor,” muttered Morley, when he awoke 
next morning. “ What a pace Bob and Heavy- 
side set last night to be sure ! Ah, well ! No 
great harm, once in a way. And now for a 
stiff day’s work.” 


justice at %neU 


225 


His first visit was to his lawyers, who con- 
gratulated him warmly on his regained freedom 
and complete exoneration from the charge 
upon which he had been convicted. 

“ Were you a poor man,” remarked Mr. 
Drabb, the senior partner, “ I have no doubt 
the Treasury would make you some monetary 
compensation for your unmerited punishment; 
but, placed as you are, no such claim could 
decently be put forward. You must rest con- 
tent with the hearty sympathy of all right- 
minded persons. Now, as to business. That 
forfeiture-clause threatened to give us some 
trouble ; but, of course, as events have turned 
out, it ceases to operate. You merely require 
to sign a release to your trustees, to enter into 
possession of your fortune, which, with accumu- 
lated interest, now exceeds 17,000. We have 
instructed your bankers to place ;i{^5oo to your 
current account.” 

“ Thank you,” answered Morley. “ Some of 
it will come in very handy just now.” 

Mr. Drabb smiled. 

“ Money seldom comes amiss,” he observed, 
quietly. “By the way, Mr. Griffin, have you 
any idea why this Hugh Darrell persecuted you 
so remorselessly ? ” 

“ No,” was the reply ; “ unless it was jealousy 
over Miss Conyers. I never injured the man, 
to my knowledge, in my life.” 

“Jealousy may have intensified his hatred 


226 


Dartmoor* 


of you,” rejoined the lawyer, “ but the main 
cause of his dastardly conduct was a different 
one, and has only quite recently come to light. 
From letters and other documents found in the 
safe of the woman he murdered at Glapham 
(and who was in reality his mother), it is clear 
that Hugh Darrell was the illegitimate son of 
the late Colonel Hewitt Griffin.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Morley. “ My uncle’s 
son.>” 

“Just so,” assented Mr. Drabb, “and there- 
fore, in a sense, your cousin. Now the Colonel, 
whom I knew well, was a very eccentric man, a 
great believer in astrology, fortune-telling, and 
such nonsense. Whilst you were still a lad at 
Harrow, some charlatan told him, or he dis- 
covered for himself, that his heir would disgrace 
himself and come to a bad end within ten 
years ; and so convinced was he of the truth of 
this revelation, that he framed his Will in 
accordance with it. That was why, you being 
then thirteen years old, he fixed your testa- 
mentary majority at twenty-three, and added 
the forfeiture-clause, in favor of Martha Nesbitt 
and her son Hugh, should your conduct justify 
this strange prediction. When we add that 
this Hugh turns out to be identical with the 
man whom you knew as Hugh Darrell, his 
object in getting you convicted of felony is 
apparent.” 

“ I understand it all now,” said Morley. “ He 


5u0tfce at Xaet. 


227 


looked upon me as standing between him and 
what he doubtless regarded as his birthright.” 

Mr. Drabb nodded acquiescence. “ The 
strangest part of the affair is,” he continued, 
reflectively, “ that, illegitimacy apart, this Hugh 
Darrell was his natural heir, did disgrace him- 
self, and did come to a bad end. Rather a 
remarkable coincidence, I consider it. How- 
ever, that’s all past and done with. If you will 
call, say, in three days’ time, Mr. Griffin, I shall 
have all in readiness to place you in full 
possession of your inheritance.” 

To this Morley readily agreed, and then 
drove, naturally enough, to his bankers, where 
he drew £2^0. His thoughts next took an 
ecclesiastical bent, apparently, for he ordered 
the cabman to proceed to Lambeth Palace. 
There he had an interview with a grave-looking 
secretary, who finally filled in an imposing, 
highly-ornate, printed form, and received in 
exchange the sum of 

Looking vastly pleased over this rather ex- 
pensive investment, Morley was then driven to 
a telegraph-office, and dispatched the follow- 
ing 


“ Walter Gradwell, Hope Cottage, Dene 
Hollow, via Princetowji, Dartmoor. — Get some- 
one to look after cottage and Judith. Come 
up to town to-day with Myra. Drive from 
station to Brown's Hot el Dover Street, where 


228 


Dartmoor. 


rooms engaged. Urgent and important , so 
don't fail. — M or ley Griffin, Mohawk Club, 
St. James' ." 

Upon the way to Brown’s Hotel, our hero 
paid a visit to Hancock’s, the well-known jew- 
ellers, as though bent upon getting rid of the 
balance of his money. Yet, as his purchase 
was a very simple one, and he received change 
out of a note, lavish expenditure was clearly 
not his present object after all. He secured 
the necessary rooms at Brown’s and then 
wound up at the Mohawk Club to lunch with 
Dyver and Heavyside. 

To them he narrated what he had done, hav- 
ing previously given them a full account of his 
adventures at Dene Hollow. 

“But I say, Morley old chap,” protested the 
Hon. Bob, “ isn’t this going the thing rather 
suddenly, you know 1 ” 

“ Morley ’s quite right,” put in the dragoon. 
“ I’ll see him through, if you funk it. Bob.” 

“ I’ll yield my place to no man,” retorted 
Dyver. “ Look after the traps and the com- 
missariat, Dick. They’re more in your line.” 

“All right,” assented Heavyside. “Jermyn 
Street at 12.15, eh } " 

“That will do admirably,” said Morley. 
“ But I wonder what Gradwell will say } ” 


“Uabat Ibappencb in Sermon Street. 229 


CHAPTER XIX. 

WHAT HAPPENED IN JERMYN STREET. 

Walter Gradwell received Morley’s tel- 
egram soon after mid-day, and was sorely 
puzzled to divine what unlooked-for event could 
have happened to render his presence with 
Myra in London so “ urgent and important.” 

“ Surely there can’t be any hitch at the Home 
Office about the Free Pardon!” he exclaimed. 
“Can it be that Myra’s personal evidence is 
needed ? Yet, they couldn’t well re-arrest him 
after letting him go. I give it up. But since 
we’re wanted, we’ll go. I can get Dave Her- 
rick and his sister to look after the old girl. 
Myra child, pack up your best things, and put 
my blue frock-coat in with them. One needs 
to look a bit smart in the West End of London.” 

Myra obeyed, wondering greatly at the sud- 
denness of the summons, and wondering, it 
may be, still more whether her best Sunday 
gown, and the new bonnet with the pink trim- 
mings, would pass muster in the metropolis. 

They reached Paddington at half-past seven, 
where Morley, notified by telegram of their 
departure, was waiting to escort them to Dover 


236 


S)artmoor» 


Street. Myra had never yet seen her lover 
dressed to advantage, and as she caught a first 
glimpse of him, towering above all other men 
and looking so elegant and handsome, she 
could scarcely refrain from crying out in her 
joy and pride. 

Even Gradwell was startled by the altered 
appearance of his prospective son-in-law. 
“ WeVe but homely folk to rub shoulders with 
fashionable people,” he remarked, as the hotel 
brougham bore them swiftly along. 

“Meaning your clothes?” asked Morley, 
laughing. “ Make your mind quite easy on 
that score. You will find your rooms more or 
less inundated with things, from amongst 
which you will be able to make shift for a day 
or so until the tailors put you to rights. As 
for Myra* Madame Hortense will see to her.” 

“Well,” said Gradwell, “we are in your 
hands, and I suppose you know best. But, tell 
me, why did you send for us so suddenly ? ” 

Morley trod on the speaker’s foot, warningly. 
“ I will tell you presently,” he answered, “ after 
dinner; for I have invited myself to dine with 
you to-night.” 

“ Dine ? ” repeated Myra in astonishment. 
“ Why, we dined before we left the cottage ! ” 

“ They call that luncheon here,” explained 
her lover, gazing tenderly into the wondering 
brown eyes. 

“Call it dinner, or supper, or what you will,” 


Timbat Ibappencb in 5 ermgn Street. 231 

put in Gradwell, heartily, “ I’ll do justice to it. 
Traveling is rare hungry work.” 

Possibly the hall porter was not much im- 
pressed by the luggage of the new guests, con- 
sisting, as it did, of a box, carpet bag, and 
band-box containing the bonnet with the pink 
trimmings. But then, the quantity of goods 
previously sent up to the suite engaged for 
number 17 made amends. 

Doubtless this sturdy-looking gent, and his 
pretty daughter had escaped from a shipwreck, 
and had come to London to refit. Their spon- 
sor, at all events, was quite the correct thing, 
and therefore he received them benignly. 

Now Brown’s Hotel is, in vulgar parlance, 
distinctly a “ swell ” caravanserai, whereas, in 
the same argot^ the Metropole and the Savoy 
are merely “swagger” hotels. Under the cir- 
cumstances Morley had exercised a wise dis- 
cretion in selecting the former. This, of course, 
is by the way and without prejudice. 

Dinner passed off admirably, as it needs 
must — given healthy appetites and a good chef. 
Then, whilst Myra retired to discuss possibili- 
ties, at short notice, with Madame Hortense’s 
emissary, Morley and Gradwell came to an 
understanding over their cigars and coffee. 
Gradwell listened to Morley ’s explanation at first 
doubtfully, then relentingly, and finally good- 
humoredly. 

“ Have it your own way, my lad ! ” he ex- 


2)artmoor, 


claimed, when the whole lot of the dire plot 
had been unfolded. “ 1 won’t say you haven’t 
stolen a march, because you have. But, I 
don’t blame you, not I. And . . . li yon should 
chance to call round to-morrow to take Myra 
and myself for a walk, why I suppose we can’t 
do less than accompany you. But, I say . . . 
own up now. This is your friend Dyver’s 
idea, isn’t it? Just the sort of joke I can fancy 
him planning out. I’m really anxious to meet 
this Mr. Dyver. A straight-going, over-proof 
sample, I call him ! ” 

“Are you? ” rejoined Morley. “ That’s very 
lucky, because, strange to say, he and Heavy- 
side are just as anxious to meet you ! It’s 
quite early yet. Come round with me to the 
Club.” 

“ But how about Myra ? ” asked Gradwell, 
weighing his parental responsibilities against 
his own inclinations. 

“My dear Gradwell,” explained Morlc?)’, 
“ Myra will be as happy as . . . as, say, a man 
who has just received a Free Pardon . . . 
amongst the chiffotts that all girls love. Go 
into her rooms yourself and tell her you’re 
going out for an hour or so, that I’m waiting to 
say good-night, and that . . . she’s not to sit 
up for you. I’ll bet you a new hat you’ll find 
her and the girl from Hortense’s up to their 
eyes in millinery.” 

“ For a young man who has been lately 


Mbat Ibappcneb in ^ermisn Street. 233 


quarrying granite,” remarked Gradwell, whom 
an unexceptionable dinner and vintage wines 
had rendered a trifle facetious, “you seem to 
know a great deal about young women’s tasks. 
Let me see.” 

He presently returned with Myra. “ You 
were right,” he whispered. “ They were up to 
their eyes in it ! Say good-night and let’s be 
off.” 

Saying good-night was, apparently, more 
than mere repetition of the simple words, for Mr. 
Gradwell was allowed a liberal ten minutes to 
cool his heels in the hall ere Morley rejoined him. 
Then they proceeded arm in-arm to the Club. 

The Hon. Bob Dyver and Captain Heavyside 
were discovered in the billiard-room playing 
200 up. 

“Hullo, old chap!” cried Dyver. “Found 
your way round, eh Isay, I wish you’d take 
my cue. Can’t play a bit to-night, and Dick is 
186 to my 141.” 

“ How the deuce do you expect me to play 
billiards, seeing that I haven’t touched a cue 
for over two years ? ” asked Morley. “ But let 
me introduce to you my friend, my more than 
friend, Mr. Gradwell. Mr. Gradwell ... the 
Hon. Robert Dyver, and another old pal of 
mine, Captain Heavyside. Gentlemen, spare 
me further formula ; know one another.” 

Inasmuch as they already knew each other so 
well by name, Morley’s appeal needed no 


234 V Dartmoor, 

seconding. Captain Heavyside ran out in his 
second break, and they all adjourned to the 
smoking-room. There the program* for the 
following day was definitely arranged, and 
Alorley, successfully resisting Dyver’s inter- 
mediate suggestions of “ just one last soda,” 
landed his father-in-law elect safely at Brown’s 
before midnight, and was himself dreaming — 
ah ! who shall say what rapturous dreams } — 
before Big Ben had tolled the half-hour. 

What more natural than that the Hon. Bob 
Dyver should call the next day at about 1 1 A. M. 
to visit his newly-made acquaintance, and that 
he should have found Morley Griffin deep in con- 
versation with an extremely pretty brown-eyed, 
brown-haired young lady ? 

Gradwell did the honors. “ Mr. Dyver,” he 
said in his best manner, “ this is my daughter 
Myra. Myra, — the Hon. Robert Dyver, Mor- 
ley’s oldest and dearest friend.” 

Myra smiled sweetly upon the sandy-haired 
little gentleman, who had striven so manfully in 
her lover’s behalf, and shook his hand with 
charming earnestness. 

“ You must be my friend also,” she said 
frankly, “ and let me be yours.” 

“ Agreed to, with all my heart. Miss Grad- 
well,” replied the Hon. Bob, “ I always 
thought Morley about the unluckiest fellow I 
ever knew. But, by Jove, the tide has changed 
now with a vengeance ! ” 


Mbat Ibappcncb U\ Sermon Street. 255 

Myra blushed laughingly at the implied com- 
pliment, and glanced half-shyly at her stalwart 
lover. 

“ It has indeed, Bob,” assented Morley. 
“ But I think Dame Fortune will have ex- 
hausted her good things when she gives me 
Myra.” 

Then a walk was suggested, the day being 
cold and bright and clear — one of those crisp, 
bracing days that sometimes precede Novem- 
ber fogs. Madame Hortense’s ’hurried efforts 
had not been spared, and when Myra made her 
appearance in a superb sealskin jacket with 
cap to match, she looked simply bewitching. 
Dyver and Gradwell went ahead ; she and 
Morley followed. Somehow their way led 
them through Jermyn Street, and, just upon 
the stroke of twelve, they passed a church. 

“ Hullo ! ” exclaimed Dyver, stopping short, 
“ here’s a church with the door open. Happy 
thought. Let us go inside.” 

And Myra, who supposed that churches 
formed items in the program of sight-seeing, 
fell innocently into the snare. Not until a 
clergyman, clad in his robes of office and 
accompanied by a sedate-looking person in 
black, advanced towards them from the vestry, 
did a suspicion of the truth dawn upon her. 
Then she glanced at her lover’s radiant face 
and knew all. She was about to become 
Morley ’s wife, not in three weeks’ time as her 


236 


Dartmoor, 


father had said, but that very day ! The little 
heart beat fast ; she felt frightened (she knew 
not why) at the suddenness of the surprise. 
Her color came and went, and she looked half- 
piteously at Morley. 

“ Be brave, my darling,” he whispered. “ I 
couldn’t bear to wait three long weeks, and so 
I procured a special license. You have nothing 
to do but to say ‘ I will,’ when the clergyman 
asks you if you will take me for your husband.” 
And, so saying, he handed her over to her 
father, whose mission it, of course, was to give 
her away. What could she do but obey her 
husband’s instructions. 

It was the quietest possible of weddings. 
Dyver acted as best man, whilst Captain Heavy- 
side just came in in time for the ceremony. In 
one short quarter of an hour Myra Gradwell 
became Morley’s wife. But when the officiat- 
ing clergyman had pronounced the benediction 
the stillness of the old church was broken. For, 
bribed and instigated thereto by Dyver, the 
organist had bided his time and now burst 
forth with the glorious Wedding March, to the 
soul-stirring strains of which the newly-made 
bride walked back to the vestry upon her hus- 
band’s arm. There Morley forestalled a clever 
flank movement on the part of the Hon. Bob to 
secure the first kiss. Captain Heavyside was 
duly introduced, claimed successfully a similar 
privilege as an old friend of the bridegroom, 


Mbat Ibappeneb in 5ermi2n Street. 237 


signed as a witness, and hurried away to ensure 
that the carriages were in readiness. 

Mr. Gradwell, looking very imposing indeed 
in a fur-lined overcoat, embraced his daughter 
tenderly. 

“ It was scarcely fair, my dear, to take you 
by surprise like this, was it ? ” he whispered. 
“ But there, I married your mother in much the 
same way, and I don’t think we, either of us, 
ever had cause to regret it.” 

Two barouches were in waiting at the church 
door. The bride and bridegroom had one to 
themselves, whilst the three gentlemen took 
possession of the other. Captain Heavyside’s 
arrangements included a wedding-breakfast at 
the Star and Garter, Richmond, where they 
formed as merry a party as ever that famous 
hostelry harbored within its walls. 

The honeymoon was as quiet as the wedding. 
Bognor was the place chosen ; and there the 
young couple abandoned themselves to three 
weeks of delightful, selfish, unalloyed happiness. 

Mr. Gradwell, after spending a pleasant week 
in the society of Dyver and Heavyside, returned 
to the cottage at Dene Hollow, where extensive 
alterations were forthwith taken in hand. 

But little more remains to be told. 

Morley Griffin no longer the implusive, some- 
what flighty Morley Griffin of old, but a steady- 
going rriarried man, deeply impressed with the 


2)artmoor. 


238 

responsibilities of his position, invested the 
greater part of his fortune in a sound, prosper- 
ous business, and soon found himself in the re- 
ceipt of a handsome and increasing income. 
He and his young wife reside in town ; but they 
invariably spend two months each year with Mr. 
Gradwell at the cottage,' which, however, has 
outgrown all claims to that unpretentious title. 
Needless to say, Mr. Gradwell at once aban- 
doned his illicit distilling upon his daughter’s 
marriage, and the “ Smuggler’s Caves ” are 
now quite the show-places of the neighbor- 
hood. 

Mrs. Darrell has never returned to England. 
Her husband’s death placed her in possession 
of the 10,000 insurance money, and this, in 
addition to her own 10,000, obviously suf- 
ficed to maintain her in comfort. Rumor had 
it, at one time, that she was preparing to enter 
a religious cohimunity in Rome ; but those best 
acquainted with her shallow, unstable character 
averred that she had merely taken up this sen- 
sational phase of religion as a distraction. She 
is, at all events, little likely to cross her former 
lover’s path. 

Her mother. Lady Conyers, is still to the fore 
during the London season, and still affects Italy 
during the remainder of the year. Amongst the 
wedding-presents which poured in after the 
announcement of Morley’s marriage appeared in 
the newspapers, was a massive bracelet set with 


Mbat Ibappeneb in ^ermi^n Street* 239 


brilliants and sapphires, with which was en- 
closed the following lines : — 

“ To M or ley Griffi,7i. A token of good-will 
and of unavailing regrets for 7nisjudging him. 
—H. C. 

Now, Lady Conyers’ name is Helen. 

The Hon. Bob Dyver still treads in the 
flowery paths reserved for heirs to peerages, 
and still postpones, as he puts it, “ weighing in 
for the Matrimonial Stakes.” Upon the other 
hand, it is credibly asserted that Heavyside is 
only awaiting a majority in his regiment, to 
imitate Morley’s example. 

Such then is the story of “ Dartmoor ” as I, 
its chronicler, have many times heard it from 
the lips of the principal characters concerned 
in it. Bob Dyver, Heavyside, and I are, indeed, 
frequent guests at Dene Hollow during the hot 
August days ; and, upon one of these visits, I 
read out my version for criticism. On the 
whole, it has been approved of. Then I begged 
Mrs. Morley Griffin to dictate the Moral of the 
Story. 

“ Oh, I’ll do that for you ! ” exclaimed the 
Hon. Bob, removing his cigar from his lips, as 
we lounged under the shady verandah. “ Keep 
your muscles in good trim •” 


240 


H)artmoor. 


“ And learn how to box! ” supplemented the 
dragoon. 

“ Silence, scoffers ! ” I replied severely. “ I 
asked Mrs. Griffin, not you.” 

And then brown-haired, brown-eyed Myra, 
seated at her husband’s feet and caressing her 
first-born, who was joyously riding to Banbury 
Cross upon his knee, granted my request. 
These were the words that she spoke, and I 
know that every heart in our little group re- 
echoed them : — 

“ Thus may Evil oftimes turn to Good, and 
our bitterest trials be but the prelude to an en- 
during happiness ! ” 


THE END. 


Dartmoor 




By MAURICE H. HERVEY 

Author of “Dead Man’s Court,” etc. 


1ftew l^orft an& XonDon 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 





(! 


i 











r 







4 » « «l* 


r ' 


♦ f . '4 

j •- . 


♦ •• ' 


•*• ♦ 

* • r 
♦ • • 


.S • 


’ . f 

*- 




> V . -^ 

I. * '' • ^ ViL ; 


♦ 'V ‘X- •* ' i*r ' .^w. 

V •-■.••. ’.*. . "..'^L-r % 




> • 




» ^ 


liU 


It-j V 

. *' !. 


• J V • 

. » • 


•' • * 




• 0 ^' 



Lr -• 

■ i,t*- ' ^ 'v'^v 

-•y r .^Viv v-'^S^-- - 


' 



" ‘'V 




• . f 


^ » * 


-^.r, 'T ; • . 

* tv ^ N*. 


f •. - ^ 


^ r /' 

: . ' w "■ . 

'. * 

‘•Jv' ■■*.'■ 

• \ V • 


. 

<■ . » ^ . ' : •<. • 


^ • • V 




* * ■ V MJ 

/^:f . : . r 

- 




4 «* ■■' 41 .*^ ,» ’• 

*•.« f », « • 









* 


r 

•< 

« 









■J 









-f 





•V ■^\';*.'* ' •.■ ■-■' 

' ^s. S-'"'- • ^ ••■ 


•'•*;.*■'* -I. '•y‘» - '2- ' aJ'** ti?1 






A k* v« .v*^*^* ^ 

,■ .'V-Vm / •• 


% 

»' 


;-■.. r /' ■• 4 ’^v* .,. . ■•.\.. 

Ck: .• , . 


• * 

. « 





I . . , ■• ‘ 

* ■ » j • • -* 

-■% - , < :• j j 


* s- 


t A • 



' •^' w*V**^'i .'«* * • ' ' 

* ■^ • w V-^ ■« V*-'’- ' ' " 

,- ,:;;; " - / ih 4 i,- ^:;- : t 


• • » 


.1 




.. ■ *1: 


^ \ ■ I • # • ■ k I • ’v ’ ■ W* • ^ M f., .. - 1 

." :V- ■ ' • ' • ■ •'■■ <■• .••> ■ •• •■ 

- ■ V ■ •■•:. -, ■■ ‘ ■ >. 









' ■ V V' iHW ‘ * " 




t ‘ 

\r 

V / 


; ( 


• ll 




•v; <* 

V* /«' ■*’ 


' ^ 

•, - 



'f^. 


•y 


•4' 


. -l’ 


*-- 

r » 


f I 


V* 

V 


.• : 


k. 


, A^ - 


• r 




» <■. 




^ ♦ 


•S' 


» 

V ■ -* 


' k\ <^ <ij ,•■■ ' ’ 


V- .. . 




* * • i? 









i 




; ‘ ? . • • •' . ( * 

.v--^ 























library of congress 


0002 2115*^^0 



